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ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


The  Ethel  Morton  Books 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/ethelmortonatrosOOsmit 


The  Ethel  Morton  Books 


ETHEL  MORTON 
AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


BY 

MABELL  S.  C.  SMITH 


THE  GOLDSMITH  PUBLISHING  CO. 

CLEVELAND 
MADE  IN  U.  S.  A. 


<&Dg>raiGfZT'  1955 


PRESS  OF 

THE  COMMERCIAL  BOOKBINDING  CO. 
CLEVELAND 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I Roger’s  Idea 9 

II  Moya  and  Sheila ,21 

III  The  Farmhouse  34 

IV  Plans 47 

V The  Rose  Fete 64 

VI  Postponement 74 

VII  Furniture  Making 89 

VIII  The  Mantel  Cupboard 106 

IX  Trouble  at  Rose  House 121 

X A File  of  Ducks 132 

XI  A New  Kind  of  Grass  Seed 143 

XII  Lexington  and  Concord 156 

XIII  Trolleying 166 

XIV  The  Connecticut  Valley- 174 

XV  The  Berkshires  and  Bennington  . .189 

XVI  Hunting  Arrow  Heads 202 

XVII  The  Storm 218 

V XVIII  Gertrude  Changes  Her  Name  . . . 235 


IIMIJI  U 'I'll  I" 

1 


ETHEL  MORTON  AT 
ROSE  HOUSE 


CHAPTER  I 
Roger’s  idea 

FOR  the  fortieth  time  that  afternoon,  it  seemed 
to  Ethel  Brown  Morton  and  her  cousin, 
Ethel  Blue,  they  untangled  the  hopelessly  mixed  gar- 
lands of  the  maypole  and  started  the  weavers  once 
more  to  lacing  and  interlacing  them  properly. 

“Under,  over;  under,  over,”  they  directed,  each 
girl  escorting  a small  child  in  and  out  among  the  gay 
bands  of  pink  and  white  which  streamed  from  the 
top  of  the  pole. 

May  Day  in  New  Jersey  is  never  a certain  quan- 
tity; it  may  be  reminiscent  of  the  North  Pole  or  the 
Equator.  This  happened  to  be  the  hottest  day  of 
the  year  so  far,  and  both  Ethels  had  wiped  their 
foreheads  until  their  handkerchiefs  were  small  balls 
too  soaked  to  be  of  any  further  use.  But  they  kept 
on,  for  this  was  the  first  Community  Maypole  that 
Rosemont  ever  had  had,  and  the  United  Service 
Club,  to  which  the  girls  belonged,  was  doing  its  part 
to  make  the  afternoon  successful.  Helen,  Ethel 
Brown’s  sister,  and  Margaret  Hancock,  another 
member  of  the  Club,  were  teaching  the  younger  chil- 
dren a folk  dance  on  the  side  of  the  lawn;  Roger 

9 


IO  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


Morton,  James  Hancock  and  Tom  Watkins  were 
marshalling  a group  of  boys  and  marching  them 
back  and  forth  across  the  end  of  the  grass  plot  near- 
est the  schoolhouse.  Della  Watkins,  Tom’s  sister, 
and  Dorothy  Smith,  a cousin  of  the  Mortons,  were 
going  about  among  the  mothers  and  urging  them  to 
let  the  little  ones  take  part  in  the  games.  Every- 
body was  busy  until  dusk  sent  the  small  children 
home  and  the  caretaker  came  to  uproot  the  pole  and 
to  shake  his  head  ruefully  over  the  condition  of  the 
lawn  whose  smoothness  had  been  roughened  by  the 
tread  of  scores  of  dancing  feet. 

“ It’s  rather  hard  on  you,  isn’t  it?  ” Ethel  Brown 
sympathized  with  him;  “ but  the  children  have  had 
such  a glorious  afternoon  that  you  can’t  begrudge  it 
to  them.” 

“ I’d  be  the  stingy  one  if  I did,”  returned  Patrick; 
“ but  they  do  play  the  mischief  wid  me  sod.” 

“ Pretend  it’s  ‘ the  ould  sod  ’ and  you’ll  enjoy 
working  it  into  condition  again,”  suggested  Ethel 
Blue,  who  never  had  grown  too  old  to  enjoy  “ pre- 
tending.” 

It  was  while  the  Club  members  were  sitting  on  the 
Mortons’  veranda,  resting,  that  Helen,  who  was 
president  of  the  Club,  called  them  to  order. 

“ Saturday  afternoon  is  our  usual  time  of  meet- 
ing,” she  began,  “ and  no  one  can  say  that  we  haven’t 
put  in  a solid  afternoon  of  service.” 

Groans  as  one  and  another  shifted  a cramped  po- 
sition to  another  more  restful  for  weary  feet  con- 
firmed her  statement. 

“ What  I want  to  say  now  is  that  it’s  time  for  us 
to  be  thinking  up  some  more  service  work.  We  are 
all  studying  pretty  hard  so  we  don’t  want  to  under- 


ROGER’S  IDEA 


ii 


take  anything  that  will  use  up  our  out-of-door  time 
too  much,  but  we  haven’t  anything  in  prospect  except 
helping  with  the  town  Fourth  of  July  celebration, 
over  two  months  away,  so  we  might  as  well  be  plan- 
ning something  else.” 

“ Do  I understand,  Madam  President,”  asked 
Roger,  “ that  the  chief  officer  of  this  distinguished 
Club  hasn’t  any  ideas  to  suggest?  ” 

“ The  chief  officer  is  so  tired  that  not  even  another 
glass  of  lemonade  — thank  you,  Tom  — can  stir  her 
gray  matter.” 

“ Hasn’t  anybody  else  any  ideas?  ” 

Silence  greeted  the  question. 

“ I seem  to  remember  boasts  that  ideas  never 
would  fail  this  brilliant  group,”  jeered  Roger. 

“ There  were  some  such  remarks,”  James  recalled 
meditatively;  “ and  I remember  that  you  prophe- 
sied that  the  day  would  come  when  we’d  call  on  you 
for  information  about  some  stupendous  scheme  of 
yours  that  was  literally  as  big  as  a house.  Let’s 
have  it  now.” 

“ Do  I understand  that  you’re  really  appealing  to 
me  to  learn  my  scheme  ? ” inquired  Roger,  swelling 
with  amusement. 

“ If  it’s  any  satisfaction  to  you  — yes,”  replied  his 
sister. 

Roger  burst  into  a peal  of  laughter. 

“ I’m  not  such  a bad  prophet  after  all,”  he  ex- 
claimed. “ I said  you’d  be  coming  to  me  about  the 
first  of  April  — ” 

“ I remember  we  spoke  of  your  April  Fool 
scheme,”  responded  Tom  mildly. 

“ — and  this  is  the  first  of  May.  I’m  only  a 
month  out  in  my  reckoning.” 


12  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Not  bad  at  all  for  a first  attempt,”  said  Ethel 
Brown  patronizingly. 

“ I remember  you  said  your  grandfather  would  let 
us  have  a house  for  the  plan,  whatever  it  is,”  Della 
contributed  to  the  general  collection  of  reminiscences. 

“ He  did  and  will.  I’ve  never  let  him  forget  his 
offer,  because  I knew  that  some  day  you’d  be  asking 
me  just  the  questions  that  are  now  ringing  in  my 
ears.” 

“ Shoot  off  the  answers,  then,  old  man,”  urged 
James.  “ We’re  waiting.” 

“ Breathlessly,”  added  Margaret. 

Roger  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the  top  step 
of  the  piazza  and  leaned  his  head  against  the  post. 

“ It  certainly  does  me  good  to  see  you  all  at  my 
feet  begging  like  this,”  he  declared. 

“ Bosh!  You’re  at  ours  and  I can  prove  it,”  as- 
serted Tom,  stretching  out  a foot  of  goodly  size. 

“Peace!  Withdraw  that  battering  ram!” 
pleaded  Roger.  “ I’ll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Tom’s 
really  responsible  for  this  idea,  anyway.” 

“ Ideas,  real  fresh  ones,  aren’t  much  in  my  line,” 
admitted  practical  Tom,  “ but  I’m  glad  to  have 
helped  for  once.” 

“ I don’t  suppose  you  remember  that  time  last 
autumn  when  I went  in  to  New  York  to  see  you  and 
you  took  me  down  to  the  chapel  where  your  father 
preaches  on  Sunday  afternoons?  ” 

“ I remember  it;  we  found  Father  there  talking 
with  a lot  of  mothers  and  children.” 

“ That’s  the  time.  Well,  those  women  and  chil- 
dren got  on  my  nerves  like  anything.  You  see,  out 
here  in  Rosemont  we  haven’t  any  real  suffering  like 
that.  There  are  poor  people,  and  Mother  always 


ROGER’S  IDEA 


i3 


does  what  she  can  for  them,  and  there’s  a Charitable 
Society,  as  you  know,  because  you  all  helped  with  the 
Donnybrook  Fair  they  had  on  St.  Patrick’s  Day.  But 
the  people  they  help  out  here  are  regular  Rocke- 
fellers compared  with  those  poor  creatures  that  your 
father  had  in  his  office  that  day.” 

“ Father  says  he  could  spend  a million  dollars  a 
year  on  those  people,  and  not  have  a misspent  cent,” 
said  Della. 

“ What  hit  me  hardest  was  the  thin  little  chil- 
dren. Elisabeth  hadn’t  come  to  us  yet,”  Roger  went 
on,  referring  to  a Belgian  baby  that  had  been  sent 
to  the  Club  to  take  care  of,  “ and  I wasn’t  so  ac- 
customed to  thinness  as  I’ve  grown  to  be  since,  and 
it  made  me  — well,  it  just  made  me  sick.” 

“ I don’t  wonder,”  agreed  Della  seriously. 
“ That’s  the  way  they  make  me  feel.” 

“ I know  what  you  thought  of,”  exclaimed  Ethel 
Blue,  who  was  so  imaginative  and  sympathetic  that 
she  sometimes  had  an  almost  uncanny  way  of  read- 
ing peoples’  thoughts.  “ You  wanted  to  bring  some 
of  those  poor  women  out  into  the  country  so  that 
the  children  could  get  well,  and  you  told  your  grand- 
father about  it  and  he  offered  you  a house  some- 
where.” 

“ That’s  about  it,  kidlet.  I heard  one  of  the 
women  say  that  she’d  had  a week  in  the  country  — 
some  sort  of  Fresh  Air  business  — and  that  the  baby 
got  a lot  better,  and  then  she  had  to  go  back  to  the 
city  and  the  litle  creature  was  literally  dying  on  her 
hands.” 

“ You  want  to  give  them  a whole  summer,” 
guessed  Ethel  Brown. 

“ That’s  the  idea.  Since  I’ve  seen  what  proper 


i4  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


care  and  good  food  and  fresh  air  have  done  for  that 
wretched  little  skeleton,  Elisabeth,  I’m  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  if  we  can  give  some  of  those 
mothers  and  babies  a whole  month  or  perhaps  two 
months  of  Rosemont  air  we’ll  be  saving  lives,  actually 
saving  lives.” 

Roger  looked  about  earnestly  from  one  grave  face 
to  another.  All  were  in  sympathy  with  him  and  all 
waited  for  the  development  of  his  plan,  for  they 
knew  he  would  not  have  laid  so  much  stress  upon  it 
if  he  had  not  thought  out  the  details. 

“ I’ve  talked  it  over  with  Grandfather  and  he 
rose  to  it  right  off.  Here’s  where  the  house  comes 
in.  He  said  he  was  going  to  build  a new  cottage  for 
his  farm  superintendent  this  spring  — you  know  it’s 
almost  done  now  — and  that  we  could  have  the  old 
farm  house  if  we  wanted  to  fix  it  up  for  a Fresh  Air 
scheme.” 

“ Mr.  Emerson  is  a brick.  I pull  my  forelock  to 
him,”  and  Tom  illustrated  his  remark. 

“Where’s  the  money  to  come  from?”  asked 
James,  who  was  both  of  Scottish  descent  and  the 
Club  treasurer,  and  so  was  not  only  shrewd  but  ac- 
customed to  look  after  details. 

“ Grandfather  said  he’d  help  in  this  way ; if  the 
Club  would  study  the  old  house  and  decide  on  the 
best  way  to  make  it  answer  the  purpose  he  would 
provide  two  carpenters  for  a fortnight  to  help  us. 
That  will  mean  that  if  we  want  to  do  any  white- 
washing or  papering  or  matters  of  that  kind  we’ll 
have  to  do  it  ourselves,  but  the  carpenters  will  put 
the  house  in  repair  and  put  up  any  partitions  that  we 
want  and  so  on.” 

“ Is  it  furnished?  ” 


ROGER’S  IDEA 


i5 


“ There’s  another  problem.  The  superintendent 
has  had  his  own  furniture  there  and  what  will  be  left 
when  he  goes  is  almost  nothing.  There  are  some 
old  things  in  the  garret,  but  we’ll  have  to  use  our 
ingenuity  and  invent  furniture.” 

“ The  way  I did  for  our  attic.”  Dorothy  re- 
minded them  of  the  room  where  the  Club  had  been 
meeting  ever  since  its  members  returned  from  Chau- 
tauqua where  it  had  been  formed  the  summer  before. 

“ Just  so.  We’ll  have  to  make  a raid  on  our 
mothers’  attics  and  also  on  the  stores  in  town  that 
have  their  goods  come  in  big  boxes,  and  I imagine  we 
shall  be  able  to  concoct  things  that  will  ‘ do,’  though 
they  may  be  remarkable  to  look  upon.” 

“ The  mothers  and  children  will  be  out  of  doors 
all  the  time,  so  they  won’t  sit  around  and  examine  the 
furniture,”  laughed  Della. 

“It  will  be  scanty,  probably,  but  if  we  can  get 
beds  enough  and  a chair  apiece,  or  a substitute  for  a 
chair,  and  a few  tables,  we  can  get  along.” 

“ There’s  your  house  provided  and  furnished 
after  a fashion  — how  are  you  going  to  run  it?” 
inquired  Helen.  “ It  takes  shekels  to  buy  even  very 
plain  food  in  these  days  of  the  ‘ high  cost  of  living,’ 
and  we’ve  got  to  give  these  women  and  children 
nourishing  food ; they  can’t  live  on  fresh  air  alone.” 
“ Praise  be,  fresh  air  costs  nothing  I ” 

“ That’s  one  thing  we’ll  get  free,”  laughed  Roger. 
“ Grandfather  told  me  to  investigate  and  see  what  I 
could  find  out  about  finances  and  then  let  him  know. 
So  I went  in  to  see  Mr.  Watkins.” 

“ And  never  told  me,”  said  Tom  reproachfully. 

“ Of  course  not.  All  of  you  people  were  too 
sniffy.  I told  your  father  what  the  plan  was  and 


1 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


what  Grandfather  had  said.  He  thought  it  was 
great.  He’s  a corker,  your  father  is.” 

Della  and  Tom  looked  somewhat  startled  at  this 
epithet  describing  their  parent,  but  Roger  meant  it 
to  be  complimentary,  so  they  made  no  remonstrance. 

“ He  said  right  off  that  he  could  provide  the 
women  and  children  in  any  numbers  and  that  he’d 
select  the  ones  that  needed  the  change  most  and 
would  be  most  benefited  by  it.” 

“ It’s  not  hard  to  find  those,”  murmured  Della. 

“ Then  he  said  that  he  had  certain  funds  that  he 
could  draw  on  for  such  cases  and  that  he’d  be  just 
as  willing  to  pay  the  board  for  these  women  and  chil- 
dren at  Rosemont  as  anywhere  else,  so  that  we  could 
depend  on  a small  sum  for  each  one  of  them  from 
the  treasurer  of  the  chapel.” 

“ That  ought  to  cover  the  expense  of  their  food,” 
said  Helen,  “ but  we’ll  have  to  have  a housekeeper 
and  a cook.” 

“ That’s  what  Aunt  Louise  said.” 

“ Oho,  you’ve  been  talking  with  Mother  about 
it ! ” exclaimed  Dorothy. 

“ I knew  the  Club  would  come  to  me  sooner  or 
later,  it  was  only  a matter  of  time,  so  I made  ready 
to  answer  some  of  the  questions  you’d  be  asking  me.” 
They  laughed  at  Roger’s  preparedness,  but  nodded 
approvingly. 

“ Aunt  Louise  said  she’d  pay  the  wages  of  the 
cook,  and  then  I toddled  off  to  Grandmother  Emer- 
son and  told  her  I was  planning  to  raid  her  attic  for 
old  furniture,  and  asked  her  incidentally  if  she 
thought  we  could  run  the  thing  without  a house- 
keeper.” 


ROGER’S  IDEA 


i7 

“ I hope  she  said  ‘ yes,’  ” exclaimed  Margaret, 
who  liked  to  administer  a household. 

“ Grandmother  was  very  polite;  she  said  she 
thought  the  U.  S.  C.  could  do  anything  it  set  out  to 
do,  but  that  there  would  be  countless  odds  and  ends 
that  would  occupy  us  all  summer  long  — ” 

“ Like  making  a continuous  stream  of  furniture ! ” 
“ And  going  marketing  and  doing  errands.” 

“ And  mowing  the  grass.” 

“ And  playing  games  with  the  kids.” 

“ O,  a thousand  things  would  crop  up ; we  never 
could  be  idle ; and  so  she  thought  we’d  better  have  a 
responsible  woman  as  housekeeper.  What’s  more 
she  said  she’d  pay  her.” 

“ It  wouldn’t  be  polite  for  me  to  say  about  a lady 
what  you  said  about  Mr.  Watkins,”  said  James  — 
“ For  which  I apologize,”  declared  Roger  paren- 
thetically. 

“ — but  I’d  like  to  remark  that  she’s  one  of  the 
most  reliable  grandmothers  I ever  had  anything  to 
do  with ! ” 

They  all  laughed  again. 

“ Where  we’ll  get  these  two  women  I don’t  know,” 
said  Roger.  “ My  researches  stopped  there.  But 
I suppose  it  wouldn’t  be  difficult.” 

“ I’ve  heard  Mother  say  that  the  ‘ responsible 
woman  ’ was  the  hardest  person  on  earth  to  find,” 
said  Helen,  thoughtfully.  “ But  we  can  all  hunt.” 
“ I know  some  one  who  might  do  if  she’d  be  will- 
ing — and  I don’t  know  why  she  wouldn’t,”  said 
Ethel  Brown. 

“Who?  Who?  Some  one  in  Rosemont?  ” 

“ Right  here  in  Rosemont.  Mrs.  Schuler.” 


49 


1 8 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Mrs.  Schuler?  ” 

There  was  a cry  of  wonder,  for  Mrs.  Schuler  was 
the  teacher  of  German  in  the  high  school.  She  had 
been  engaged  to  Mr.  Schuler,  who  taught  singing  in 
the  Rosemont  schools,  before  the  war  broke  out. 
Mr.  Schuler  was  called  to  the  colors  and  lost  a leg 
in  the  early  part  of  the  war.  Since  he  could  no 
longer  be  useful  as  a fighter  he  had  been  allowed  to 
return  to  America,  and  his  betrothed  had  married 
him  at  once  so  that  she  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Hin- 
denburg,  might  nurse  him  back  to  health.  He  had 
been  slowly  regaining  his  strength  through  the 
winter,  and  was  now  fairly  well  and  as  cheerful  as 
his  crippled  state  would  permit. 

“ You  know  I’ve  been  to  see  Mrs.  Hindenburg  a 
good  deal  ever  since  we  got  her  to  go  to  the  Home 
to  teach  the  old  ladies  how  to  knit,”  said  Ethel 
Brown.  “ I know  her  pretty  well  now.  The  other 
day  she  told  me  she  had  had  an  application  from  a 
family  who  wanted  to  board  with  her  this  summer, 
and  she  was  so  sorry  to  have  to  turn  them  away  be- 
cause she  didn’t  have  enough  rooms  for  them.” 

“ I don’t  see  how  that  helps  us  any.” 

“ You  know  Mr.  Schuler  hasn’t  been  able  to  take 
many  pupils  this  winter  and  I shouldn’t  wonder  if 
Mrs.  Schuler  would  be  glad  to  have  something  to 
do  this  summer  when  school  is  closed.  Now  if  they 
would  go  to  our  Fresh  Air  house  and  take  charge 
there  for  the  summer  it  would  leave  Mrs.  Hinden- 
burg with  enough  space  to  take  in  her  boarders. 
She’d  be  glad,  and  I should  think  the  Schulers  would 
be  glad.” 

“ And  we’d  be  glad ! Why,  Fraulein  is  the  grand- 
est housekeeper,”  cried  Helen,  using  the  name  that 


ROGER’S  IDEA 


i9 


Mrs.  Schuler’s  old  pupils  never  remembered  to 
change  to  “ Frau.”  “ German  housekeepers  are 
thrifty  and  neat  and  careful  — why,  she’s  exactly  the 
person  we  want.  How  great  of  you  to  think  of  her, 
Ethel  Brown ! ” 

“ You  know  she  wanted  to  adopt  our  Belgian 
baby,  so  I guess  she’s  interested  in  poor  children,” 
volunteered  Ethel  Blue. 

“ Are  our  plans  far  enough  along  for  us  to  ask 
her?  ” inquired  Margaret. 

“We  ought  to  ask  her  as  soon  as  we  can,  because 
Mrs.  Hindenburg’s  plans  will  be  affected  by  the 
Schulers’  decision,”  Helen  reminded  them. 

“ I think  we  are  far  enough  along,”  decided 
Roger.  “ You  see,  the  idea  is  new  to  you,  but  I’ve 
been  working  at  it  for  a good  many  months  now,  and 
if  we  all  pull  together  to  do  our  share  I know  we  can 
depend  on  the  grown-ups  to  do  theirs.” 

“ Shall  we  appoint  Ethel  Brown  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Schuler  and  talk  it  over  with  her?  She  knows  her 
better  than  the  rest  of  us  because  she’s  seen  her  at 
home  oftener.” 

“ Madam  President,  I move  that  Ethel  Brown  be 
appointed  a committee  of  one  to  see  our  Teutonic 
friends  and  work  up  their  sympathies  over  the  women 
and  children  we  want  to  help  so  that  they  just  can’t 
resist  helping  too.  Is  your  eloquence  equal  to  that 
strain,  Ethel?  ” 

Ethel  thought  it  was,  and  promised  to  go  the  very 
next  afternoon.  The  discussion  turned  to  the  next 
step  to  take. 

“ Grandfather’s  superintendent  is  going  to  move 
into  the  new  cottage  next  week,”  was  Roger’s  news, 
“ so  then  we  can  go  over  the  old  house  and  see  how 


20  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


it  is  arranged  and  decide  how  we’d  like  to  change  it.” 
“ And  also  find  out  just  what  furniture  is  left  and 
draw  up  a list  of  what  furniture  we  shall  need.” 

“ Had  we  better  appoint  committees  for  making 
the  different  investigations?”  inquired  Tom,  who 
was  accustomed  to  the  methods  of  a city  church. 

“ Later,  perhaps,”  decided  Helen.  “ At  first  I 
think  we  all  want  to  know  the  whole  situation  and 
then  we  can  make  our  plans  to  fit,  and  special  people 
can  volunteer  for  special  work  if  we  think  it  can  be 
done  best  that  way.” 

“ It’s  a great  old  plan  you  have  there,  Roger,” 
cried  Tom,  thumping  his  friend  affectionately  on  the 
shoulder.  “ I bow  to  your  giant  intellect.  We’ll 
do  our  best  to  make  it  a success.” 


CHAPTER  II 

MOYA  AND  SHEILA 


ELISABETH  of  Belgium  was  walking  sturdily 
now  on  the  legs  that  had  been  too  weak  to  up- 
hold her  when  she  first  came  to  Rosemont  in  No- 
vember. Her  increasing  strength  was  an  increasing 
delight  to  all  the  people  who  loved  her  — and  there 
was  no  one  who  knew  her  who  did  not  love  her  — 
but  her  activity  obliged  her  caretakers  to  be  inces- 
santly on  the  alert.  Miss  Merriam,  the  skilled 
young  woman  from  the  School  of  Mothercraft,  who 
had  pulled  her  through  her  period  of  greatest  feeble- 
ness, now  found  herself  sometimes  quite  outdone  by 
the  energy  of  her  little  charge. 

The  Ethels  were  always  glad  to  relieve  her  of  her 
responsibilities  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  it  was  the 
afternoon  of  the  day  after  Roger  had  reported  his 
plan  to  the  Club  that  found  the  cousins  strolling 
down  Church  Street,  “ Ayleesabet  ” between  them, 
clinging  to  a finger  of  each,  not  to  help  her  stand 
upright  but  to  serve  as  a pair  of  supports  from  which 
she  might  swing  herself  off  the  ground. 

“Seel  She  lifted  her  whole  weight  thenl  ” ex- 
claimed Ethel  Blue.  “We  shall  have  to  give  up 
calling  her  ‘ baby  ’ soon.  She’s  becoming  an  acro- 
bat!” 

“ It’s  all  due  to  Miss  Merriam.  I wish  she  didn’t 
look  so  tired  the  last  few  days.” 

Ethel  Blue  made  no  reply.  She  guessed  some- 
21 


22  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


thing  of  the  reason  that  had  made  Miss  Gertrude 
appear  distressed  and  silent.  A certain  note  that 
she  herself  had  placed  in  a May  basket  and  hung  on 
Miss  Merriam’s  door  might  have  something  to  do 
with  her  appearance  of  anxiety.  She  changed  the 
subject  as  a measure  of  precaution,  for  she  had  been 
in  the  confidence  of  Dr.  Watkins,  the  elder  brother 
of  Tom  and  Della  and  a warm  admirer  of  Miss  Mer- 
riam’s, and  she  did  not  want  the  conversation  to  run 
into  channels  where  she  might  have  to  answer  incon- 
venient questions. 

“ This  scheme  of  Roger’s  is  pretty  tremendous,” 
she  began  by  way  of  introducing  a theme  in  which 
Ethel  Brown  would  be  sure  to  be  interested. 

“ I believe  the  Club  will  put  it  through.  We 
never  have  failed  yet  in  anything  we’ve  undertaken.” 

“ We’ve  never  undertaken  anything  so  big.  Still, 
we  want  to  do  it,  so  I guess  we  shall.  Don’t  you 
think  you  almost  always  do  what  you  want  awfully 
to  do?” 

“ Perhaps  so.  It  may  be  because  you  work  aw- 
fully hard  to  bring  it  about.” 

“ I suppose  that  has  something  to  do  with  it;  but 
somehow,”  went  on  Ethel  Blue  shyly,  “ I feel  as  if 
it  was  just  as  the  Bible  says,  ‘ ask  and  ye  shall  re- 
ceive.’ If  you  ask  hard  enough  for  something  it 
comes  to  you  — or  something  of  the  same  kind 
comes.” 

“ I don’t  believe  anything  comes  to  you  if  you 
just  ask  and  don’t  do /'  returned  practical  Ethel 
Brown,  “ but  I shouldn’t  wonder  if  you  did  things 
all  the  time  to  bring  about  what  you  want,  even  if 
you  aren’t  conscious  of  working  directly  for  that 
object.” 


MOYA  AND  SHEILA 


23 

“ It  must  be  so.  Take  Elisabeth’s  coming,  for 
instance.” 

“ We  asked  for  her  fast  enough.” 

“ We  didn’t  really  expect  her  to  come,  though, 
and  yet  our  minds  were  ready  for  her  when  she  did 
come.  We  were  all  prepared  to  love  her  and  care 
for  her  and  we  wanted  tremendously  to  help  the  war 
orphans,  so  didn’t  we  ask  and  work,  too?  ” 

“We  worked  our  minds  — yes.  And  after  she 
came  we  worked  our  fingers,”  grinned  Ethel  Brown 
reminiscently.  “ I suspect  we’re  both  right.  With 
most  of  the  affairs  the  Club  has  put  through  we’ve 
all  wished  earnestly  for  success  and  we’ve  done  the 
best  we  knew  how  to  bring  about  success.  That’s 
why  I think  we’ll  carry  out  this  plan  of  Roger’s.” 
“Anyway,  we  mustn’t  be  timid  about  it.  We 
must  believe  that  we  can  attend  to  everything  all 
right.  Aunt  Marion  always  says  that  a lack  of  self- 
confidence  is  responsible  for  a lot  of  damage  in  the 
world.” 

“ I noticed  after  I heard  her  say  that  once.  Don’t 
you  know  how  scared  I used  to  be  about  reciting? 
I used  to  be  afraid  I wasn’t  going  to  remember  or 
that  I’d  have  stage  fright  or  something  would  go 
wrong,  and  very  often  just  those  things  happened. 
Then  I began  to  say  to  myself  that  I’d  recited  a great 
many  times  and  that  I ought  to  be  used  to  standing 
up  before  people,  and  that  I had  a pretty  good 
memory,  and  that  even  if  anything  did  go  wrong  I’d 
be  like  those  people  you  read  about  in  the  paper  who 
go  right  on  singing  when  there’s  an  alarm  of  fire, 
and  calm  the  audience.  And  after  I’d  recited  a good 
many  times  more  and  nothing  had  happened  then  I 
began  to  believe  that  nothing  was  going  to  happen. 


24  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


or  that  if  anything  did  happen  I’d  be  able  to  meet 
it  somehow.” 

“ You  certainly  have  improved.  Nothing  upsets 
you  now.” 

“ Dorothy  feels  the  same  way  about  her  singing. 
Every  time  she  sings  and  does  it  well  it  gives  her 
courage  to  do  better  the  next  time.” 

“ I guess  that’s  what  Margaret  and  Helen  mean 
when  they  say  that  they  aren’t  afraid  to  try  almost 
any  sort  of  sewing.  You  know  when  they  first  took 
lessons  last  summer  at  Chautauqua  they  didn’t  dare 
attempt  anything  without  letting  their  teacher  see  it 
first,  and  talking  it  over  with  her.  Now  they  design 
new  things  and  cut  and  fit  clothes  and  they’re  really 
successful  because  they  have  self-confidence.” 

“We  — the  Club,  I mean  — never  has  ‘fallen 
down  ’ yet  on  anything,  even  some  of  our  * shows  ’ 
that  we  didn’t  have  much  time  to  get  up,  so  we  ought 
to  have  confidence  in  ourselves  as  a Club.” 

“ With  this  next  undertaking,  though,  we  don’t 
really  know  how  the  thing  is  done.” 

“ How  to  make  over  the  house,  you  mean?  ” 

“ How  to  make  over  the  house  and  how  to  run 
the  Fresh  Air  settlement  when  the  house  is  made 
over.” 

“ There’s  no  doubt  we’ll  know  more  at  the  end 
of  the  summer  than  we  know  now!  We’ve  got  to 
get  information  from  every  source  we  can.” 

“ The  way  Roger  has  up  to  now.” 

“ We  must  think  of  every  one  we  know  who  has 
made  over  a house,  and  Dr.  Watkins  ought  to  be 
able  to  tell  us  of  some  people  who  have  had  Fresh 
Air  children  staying  with  them,  so  we  can  get  some 


MOYA  AND  SHEILA 


25 

idea  about  what  they  need  and  how  a house  is  man- 
aged.” 

“ There’s  one  thing  about  our  Fresh  Air  people 
that  will  make  it  easier  than  most  of  the  Fresh  Air 
farms  — they’ll  stay  a long  time,  so  they’ll  all  make 
one  big  family,  and  there  won’t  be  constant  change.” 

“ I don’t  know  whether  that  will  be  better  or 
worse.  Sometimes  people  don’t  like  each  other  and 
if  they  get  very  well  acquainted  they  feel  free  to 
quarrel,  and  they  wouldn’t  if  they  were  just  going  to 
make  a short  visit.  They’d  be  on  their  best  be- 
havior then.” 

“ If  there  are  any  children  big  enough  it  may 
work  out  so.  I suppose  Fresh  Air  boys  are  on  their 
best  behavior  if  they  know  they’ll  only  stay  a short 
time,  and  it  may  be  impossible  for  them  to  be  good 
for  a long  time.” 

“ We  want  to  help  mothers  with  little  children,  so 
I guess  we  shan’t  be  bothered  with  many  boys  big 
enough  to  be  troublesome.  Anyway,  we  ought  to 
get  all  the  information  we  can  about  everything  that’s 
likely  to  come  up,  because  you  can’t  do  any  work 
really  well  without  knowing  how  — that  stands  to 
reason.” 

“ That’s  why  I didn’t  suggest  that  the  women  do 
the  cooking  for  the  household.  We  might  save 
money  if  they  did.” 

“ We  might  save  dollars,  but  we  wouldn’t  do  as 
much  good.  If  we  have  a cook  who  knows  about 
foods  the  way  Miss  Merriam  does  — what  ones  are 
the  most  nourishing  and  what  ones  are  suited  to  dif- 
ferent troubles  — we’re  going  to  send  those  women 
and  children  back  to  town  almost  fat ! ” 


2 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Like  Ayleesabet.  The  women  can  help  in  other 
parts  of  the  work,  though.” 

“ They’d  find  it  dull  if  they  didn’t  have  something 
to  do.  I dare  say  some  of  them  will  want  to  learn 
how  to  cook  and  how  to  do  things  in  the  best  way.” 
“ I dare  say  a lot  of  them  will  think  that  old  mar- 
ried women  like  them  can’t  be  taught  anything  new, 
so  they  won’t  want  to  learn.” 

“ We  won’t  force  them  to  learn,  then;  but  if  they 
see  things  done  in  a fashion  that  brings  good  results 
they’ll  be  learning,  whether  they  know  it  or  not.” 
“We  don’t  want  them  to  think  that  we’ve  got 
them  there  and  we’re  going  to  take  the  opportunity 
to  teach  them.  That  would  make  almost  anybody 
mad.” 

“ It  would  me.  Let’s  just  make  them  feel  that 
we  want  them  to  have  a good  time  — which  is  the 
truth  — and  then  if  we  can  teach  them  things  ‘ on 
the  side,’  all  right.” 

“ The  way  we’ve  learned  lots  of  things  about  the 
care  of  babies  from  Miss  Merriam  and  Elisabeth.” 
“ We  must  work  up  amusements.  The  youngsters 
will  play  all  day  long  out  of  doors  and  we  shan’t 
have  to  worry  about  them,  but  the  mothers  will  miss 
all  the  excitement  of  the  city  and  the  movie  shows, 
so  we’ll  have  to  give  them  some  entertainment  once 
in  a while.” 

“ We’ll  have  to  do  that  more  with  these  long- 
staying  people  than  with'  ones  who  stayed  only  a 
week  or  two.  I dare  say  plenty  of  ideas  will  come 
to  us.” 

“ Come,  come.”  A chirp  rose  from  near  the 
ground.  Ayleesabet  was  tired  of  being  disregarded 
for  so  long. 


MOYA  AND  SHEILA 


27 


“ You  blessed  Lamb!  ” cried  Ethel  Blue.  “ Did 
you  say,  ‘ Come,  come,’  just  because  you  heard  it? 
Did  you  think  we  were  talking  very  learnedly  about 
things  we  didn’t  know  much  about!  Never  mind, 
ducky  daddies,  we’ll  know  a lot  about  them  six 
months  from  now!  ” 

“ Just  the  way  we’ve  learned  a lot  about  babies  in 
the  last  six  months  from  this  little  teacher ! ” added 
Ethel  Brown. 

“ Come,  come.  Home,  home,”  remarked  Elisa- 
beth insistently. 

“ What’s  the  matter?  Are  your  leggies  tired? 
Want  the  Ethels  to  carry  you?  ” 

Elisabeth  made  it  known  that  she  would  like  some 
such  method  of  transportation,  and  sat  joyfully  on 
a “ chair  ” which  the  two  girls  made  by  interclasping 
their  wrists. 

Not  for  long  did  this  please  her  ladyship. 

“ Down,  down,”  she  demanded  in  a few  min- 
utes. 

“We  might  as  well  go  home  if  she’s  too  tired  to 
walk  and  too  restless  to  ride,”  decided  Ethel  Brown, 
and  they  turned  about,  to  the  evident  pleasure  of  the 
baby. 

As  they  were  returning  along  Church  Street  but 
were  still  at  a distance  from  Dorothy’s  house  Elisa- 
beth suddenly  gave  a chirrup  of  delight.  The 
Ethels  looked  about  to  see  the  cause  of  this  unex- 
pected expression  of  joy.  Crawling  out  through  a 
hedge  on  to  the  sidewalk  was  a child  of  about  Elisa- 
beth’s age,  but  a thin  and  dirty  little  mite,  with  a face 
that  betrayed  her  race  as  Irish. 

“ What’s  this  morsel  doing  here  all  by  herself!  ” 
exclaimed  Ethel  Blue. 


28  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ She  must  have  run  away;  or  perhaps  she  isn’t 
alone.  Let’s  look  about  for  her  mother.” 

Up  and  down  the  street  they  looked  while  Elisa- 
beth scraped  acquaintance  with  the  sudden  arrival 
upon  her  path.  The  two  children  faced  each  other, 
making  indefinite  noises,  and  then  each  stretched  out 
a hand  and  grasped  a hand  of  the  other. 

“The  darling  things!  Look  at  them!”  said 
Eth§l  Blue. 

“ I hate  to  have  Ayleesabet  touch  that  dirty  little 
paw,  but  I don’t  like  to  stop  such  friendliness,” 
wavered  Ethel  Brown. 

“ I don’t  see  a soul  in  sight.  How  do  you  sup- 
pose she  ever  got  tangled  up  in  the  hedge?  ” 

“ What  are  we  going  to  do  about  her?  ” 

“We’ll  have  to  take  her  home  and  send  Roger 
out  to  start  a search  for  her  mother.” 

“ It  doesn’t  seem  as  if  she  could  be  far  off.” 

In  truth  she  was  not  far  off,  for  as  the  girls  won- 
dered and  exclaimed  a weak  voice  made  itself  heard 
from  the  other  side  of  the  hedge. 

“ Don’t  take  her  away,”  it  said. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other,  startled  and  rather 
timid  about  investigating  this  sudden  cry. 

“ We’d  better  look  through,”  suggested  Ethel 
Blue. 

“ She  may  be  ill,”  added  Ethel  Brown. 

Leaving  the  children  to  entertain  each  other  on 
the  sidewalk  they  enlarged  the  hole  from  which  the 
new  baby  had  crawled,  and  pushed  their  way  through 
it.  On  the  ground  behind  the  hedge,  and  hidden 
from  the  sidewalk  by  its  thick  twigs  lay  a young 
woman,  so  pale  that  she  frightened  the  girls. 


MOYA  AND  SHEILA 


29 

“ Don’t  take  the  baby  away.  I’ll  feel  better  in  a 
little  while.  She  crept  off  from  me.” 

“ How  did  you  get  here?  ” asked  Ethel  Brown. 

“ I came  out  from  New  York  to  look  for  work  in 
the  country.  I felt  so  sick  I lay  down  here.” 

“ Did  you  get  any  woi'k?  ” 

A slight  movement  of  the  head  indicated  that  she 
had  not.  The  Ethels  consulted  each  other  by  dis- 
turbed glances.  There  was  no  hospital  nearer  than 
Glen  Point,  and  indeed,  the  woman  seemed  so  ill  that 
they  did  not  see  how  she  could  reach  the  hospital 
even  in  the  trolley. 

As  they  stood  silent  and  perplexed  the  honk  of  a 
motor  roused  the  almost  unconscious  woman. 

“Is  the  baby  in  the  street?”  she  inquired  fran- 
tically. 

Ethel  Brown  crushed  her  way  through  the  hedge, 
and  found  that  the  children  were  still  on  the  side- 
walk, but  were  so  near  its  edge  that  the  driver  of  the 
car  had  tooted  to  warn  them  back.  To  her  delight 
she  saw  that  the  driver  was  Grandfather  Emerson. 
She  waved  her  hand  to  stop  him. 

You’re  a great  caretaker!”  he  cried.  “Why 
do  you  leave  Elisabeth  to  look  after  herself  in  this 
fashion?  And  who’s  her  friend?” 

Ethel  climbed  into  the  machine  beside  him  and 
told  of  the  discovery  that  the  girls  had  just  made. 
Mr.  Emerson  drew  the  car  alongside  the  curb  and 
jumped  out  with  anxiety  written  on  his  face.  The 
hole  in  the  hedge  was  too  small  for  him  to  push 
through  so  he  ran  around  the  end,  and  approached 
the  prostrate  form  of  the  woman. 

Her  eyes  were  closed  and  she  lay  so  still  that 


30  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

Ethel  Blue,  who  was  rubbing  her  hands,  shook  her 
head  as  she  glanced  up  gratefully  at  the  new  ar- 
rival. 

“ What’s  this,  what’s  this?”  asked  Mr.  Emerson 
in  his  full,  rich  voice.  Its  mere  sound  seemed  to 
carry  comfort  to  the  poor  creature  lying  at  his  feet. 
He  knelt  beside  her.  “Hungry,  eh?”  he  asked. 
“ We’ll  see  about  that  right  off.  Can  you  eat  these 
cookies?  ” He  took  a thin  tin  box  out  of  his  pocket 
and  opened  it.  “ I have  a little  granddaughter  named 
Ethel  Brown  who  insists  on  my  keeping  cookies  in  my 
pocket  all  the  time  so  that  I can  eat  them  when  I’m 
driving.  See  if  you  can  take  a bite  of  this.” 

Ethel  Brown  placed  her  arm  under  the  woman’s 
head  and  lifted  it  and  her  grandfather  held  the 
cooky  before  the  half-closed  eyes.  The  lips  moved. 

“ The  baby,”  she  murmured. 

“ The  baby’s  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  mak- 
ing friends  with  our  baby,”  he  explained.  “ She 
seems  better  off  than  you  are.  I suspect  you’ve 
given  her  all  the  food  you’ve  had  lately.” 

A fluttering  hand  took  the  cooky  and  put  it  be- 
tween the  pale  lips. 

“ That’s  right,”  encouraged  Grandfather.  “ Now 
try  another.  Just  one  more.  That’s  good.  Now 
if  you  thought  you  could  stand  and  walk  a few  steps 
we’d  get  round  the  end  of  this  hedge  and  gather  up 
the  babies  and  all  get  into  the  car  and  go  somewhere 
where  we  coaid  find  something  you’d  like  better  than 
cookies.” 

Helped  by  the  girls  the  woman  struggled  to  her 
feet  and  stood  wavering  before  she  tried  to  take  a 
step.  She  was  a young  woman  with  very  black  hair 
and  gray-blue  eyes  and  a face  that  was  meant  to  be 


MOYA  AND  SHEILA  31 

unlined  and  pretty  and  not  gaunt  with  hunger  and 
furrowed  by  anxiety. 

“ You’re  very  good,”  she  whispered  feebly. 

Supported  on  each  side  she  managed  to  reach  the 
sidewalk,  where  she  looked  about  wildly  for  her 
baby.  An  expression  that  was  sad  but  infinitely  re- 
lieved came  over  her  features  when  she  saw  the  two 
children  sitting  in  the  gravel  of  the  walk  filling  their 
tiny  hands  with  pebbles. 

“ A cooky  won’t  hurt  the  baby  either,”  decided 
Mr.  Emerson,  and  he  gave  one  to  each  of  the  chil- 
dren. 

The  Ethels  had  no  chance  to  ask  him  what  he 
meant  to  do  without  their  discovery  hearing  them, 
so  they  helped  the  woman  into  the  machine,  put  in 
the  two  children  and  climbed  in  themselves.  To 
their  great  interest  Mr.  Emerson  turned  the  car 
about  and  headed  it  for  his  own  home. 

“ I wonder  what  Grandmother  will  say,”  mur- 
mured Ethel  Brown  to  Ethel  Blue,  who  was  steady- 
ing the  ill  woman’s  head  as  it  lay  against  the  back 
of  the  seat. 

Ethel  Blue  lifted  her  eyebrows  to  indicate  that 
she  could  not  guess;  but  both  girls  knew  in  their 
hearts  that  Mrs.  Emerson  would  do  what  was  wisest 
and  for  the  best  good  of  the  strays.  She  came  to 
the  door  in  answer  to  the  sound  of  the  horn. 

“ How  did  you  get  back  so  soon?  ” she  began  to 
inquire  of  her  husband  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the  pas- 
sengers in  the  car. 

“An  accident?”  she  asked  anxiously  as  she  ran 
down  the  steps. 

“ The  girls  found  this  woman  and  her  child  part 
way  over  here  and  I thought  I’d  better  bring  her  on 


32  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


and  get  your  opinion  about  her.  I think  she’d  like 
something  to  eat,”  and  the  kind  old  gentleman  smiled 
in  friendly  fashion  as  the  woman  opened  frightened 
eyes  at  the  sound  of  a new  voice. 

Among  them  they  succeeded  in  getting  her  into  the 
house  and  into  a cool  room,  where  she  lay  exhausted 
on  the  bed,  her  hand  holding  tight  to  the  little  hand 
of  her  baby,  lying  wearily  beside  her. 

“ Sunstroke?”  asked  Grandmother. 

“ Hunger,”  replied  Mr.  Emerson,  and  he  and 
Ethel  Brown  went  down  stairs  at  once  in  search  of 
food,  while  Mrs.  Emerson  and  Ethel  Blue  managed 
to  undress  their  patient  and  put  her  into  a fresh 
nightdress  and  bathe  her  face  and  hands.  By  the 
time  they  had  done  this  and  were  undressing  the 
baby,  Ethel  Brown  and  Mrs.  Emerson’s  cook  were 
at  the  door  with  jellied  broth,  milk,  gruel  and  a cool- 
ing drink. 

Ethel  Blue  fed  the  woman,  spoonful  by  spoonful, 
and  Ethel  Brown  gave  the  baby  alternate  spoonfuls 
of  gruel  and  milk. 

“Sleepy  now?”  asked  Mrs.  Emerson  when  the 
dark  head  sank  back  on  the  pillow.  “ Take  a nap, 
then.  See,  the  baby  is  right  here  where  you  can  lay 
your  hand  on  her.  We’ll  look  in  now  and  then  and 
just  as  soon  as  you  wake  up  you  must  take  some  more 
food.” 

“ Must!  ” repeated  the  girl,  for  she  was  hardly 
older  than  Miss  Merriam  they  saw  when  her  hair 
was  pushed  back  from  her  face.  “ Must!  ’Tis 
glad  I’ll  be  to  be  doing  it!  ” and  a ghost  of  a smile 
fluttered  her  lips. 

Outside  of  the  bedroom  door  Mrs.  Emerson  asked 
for  an  explanation  and  the  others  for  her  advice. 


MOYA  AND  SHEILA 


33 


“ I don’t  see  how  we  can  tell  what  we  can  do  until 
we  pull  her  through  this  trouble  and  find  out  what 
the  poor  soul  wants  to  do  herself.” 

“ She  said  she  came  out  from  New  York  to  look 
for  work  in  the  country.” 

“ Then  we  must  find  her  work  in  the  country. 
But  the  first  thing  for  us  to  attend  to  is  to  get  her 
poor  body  into  such  a condition  that  she  can  work. 
She’s  a sweet  looking  young  woman.  I’m  glad  you 
brought  her  home,  Father,”  and  between  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Emerson  there  passed  a smile  of  such  under- 
standing as  makes  beautiful  the  lives  of  people  long 
and  happily  married. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  FARMHOUSE 

IT  took  a long  time  to  bring  Moya  Murphy  and 
little  Sheila  back  to  health  and  strength,  but  it 
was  only  a day  or  two  before  Moya  was  able  to  tell 
her  story  to  Mrs.  Emerson. 

She  was  twenty-five,  she  said,  and  she  had  come 
to  America  with  her  father  and  mother  five  years 
before.  The  New  World  had  not  given  a warm 
welcome  to  the  new  arrivals,  for  both  of  the  parents 
had  fallen  ill  with  pneumonia  only  a few  weeks  after 
they  landed,  and  both  died  within  a few  days  of  each 
other. 

Moya,  left  alone  and  grieving,  had  soon  after 
married  Patrick  Murphy,  a lad  she  had  known  in  the 
old  country.  A happy  life  they  led,  especially  after 
little  Sheila  came  to  bless  them. 

When  the  declaration  of  war  in  Europe  upset 
business  conditions  in  America,  Patrick  lost  his 
“ job  ” and  all  summer  long  he  walked  the  streets, 
working  for  a day  now  and  then,  but  never  securing 
a permanent  position,  and  always  growing  weaker 
and  less  able  to  work  because  he  was  underfed.  The 
little  three-room  flat  that  had  been  such  a joy  to  them, 
had  long  been  given  up  and  they  lived  and  ate  and 
slept  in  one  room,  and  thanked  their  stars  that  they 
had  a landlord  who  did  not  insist  on  being  paid  regu- 
larly, as  did  some  they  knew  about  who  put  their 

34 


THE  FARMHOUSE 


35 

tenants  out  on  the  street  if  the  rent  was  not  forth- 
coming promptly. 

“ Somehow  it’s  the  sudden  things  that  happens  to 
me,”  said  Moya  to  Mrs.  Emerson.  She  was  sitting 
on  the  latticed  back  porch  of  the  Emersons’  house, 
her  fingers  busy  shelling  peas  for  Kate,  the  old  cook 
who  had  lived  with  Mrs.  Emerson  ever  since  she  was 
married.  “Patrick  was  crossing  the  street — ’tis 
only  six  weeks  ago,  but  it  seems  years ! An  auto- 
mobile wid  one  of  the  shrieking  horns  screamed  at 
him.  ’Twas  the  policeman  on  the  crossing  told  me. 
Patrick  was  light  on  his  feet  always,  but  that  was 
when  he  had  enough  to  eat  ivery  day.  He  thried  to 
jump  back  and  his  foot  slipped  and  he  fell  under  the 
car  and  it  killed  him.” 

She  sobbed  and  Mrs.  Emerson  and  Kate  wiped 
their  eyes. 

“Two  days  it  was  before  I knew  it;  there  was 
nothing  on  his  clothes  to  tell  who  he  was,  and  I only 
found  out  when  he  didn’t  come  home  and  I went  to 
the  police  and  they  took  me  to  the  Morgue  and  there 
he  lay.  They  gave  me  twenty  dollars  — the  police- 
men did.  They  collected  it  among  themselves.” 

“ Didn’t  they  arrest  the  driver  of  the  car?  ” 

“ ’Twas  a light  car  and  it  sped  away  before  any 
one  saw  the  number.” 

Kate  Flanigan  gave  a grunt  of  disgust  at  the  bru- 
tality of  the  driver. 

“ I gave  the  landlord  half  the  money  the  police- 
men gave  me.  I owed  it  for  the  rint.  Then  I set 
out  to  hunt  work.  Ivery  day  I walked  and  walked 
and  ivery  day  I carried  the  baby,  for  where  could  I 
leave  her?  Nobody  wanted  a girl  who  wasn’t 
trained  to  do  anything,  and  even  if  I had  been  able 


36  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

to  do  something  well  they  wanted  no  baby.  There’s 
no  room  for  babies  when  you  have  to  work,”  she 
said  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Emerson  caressed  Sheila’s  head,  as  red  as 
her  father’s  and  as  curly. 

“ And  me  growing  so  ragged  I didn’t  blame  them 
for  turning  me  off.  A cent  a day  I spent  for  the 
newspaper  and  I read  the  list  marked  ‘ Help 
Wanted.’  But  there  were  few  that  wanted  help  and 
none  that  wanted  the  likes  of  me.  All  the  time  I 
saw  Sheila  growing  thinner  and  thinner,  and  I knew 
it  was  the  littleness  of  his  food  that  had  cost  Patrick 
his  life,  and  here  was  the  baby  starving,  too,  and  I 
was  fair  distracted.” 

“ ’Tis  the  hard  life  ye’ve  had,”  sympathized  Kate. 

“ Do  you  remember  how  hot  it  was  on  May  Day? 
’Twas  a furnace,  that  day!  And  Sheila  here,  it 
wilted  her  like  a flower ! Ah,  the  poor  little  colleen ! 
She  lay  in  me  arms  like  she  was  dying  for  air,  and 
what  could  I do ! Not  a stick  was  there  in  me  room ; 
the  last  chair  I sold  that  day  and  a quarter  was  all 
I had  after  the  rint  man  came  round.  I felt  the 
baby  must  have  the  air  of  the  country  or  she’d  die  in 
me  arms.  I hardly  knew  what  I did,  but  I found 
mesilf  on  the  ferry  and  I thanked  God  when  the 
breeze  made  her  lift  her  head  the  first  time  for  hours. 
A woman  gave  me  a bottle  of  milk!  * ’Twill  not 
keep  till  I get  home,’  she  said,  ‘ and  me  bye’s  had 
enough.’  Her  baby  wanted  more  — he  stretched 
out  his  hand  for  the  bottle,  but  he  had  had  some  — 
I saw  him  — and  my  girl  was  starving.  She  saw  it 
— the  kind  woman!  ” 

Again  Mrs.  Emerson  and  Kate  wiped  their  eyes. 

“ On  the  Jersey  side  of  the  river  I got  into  the 


THE  FARMHOUSE 


37 


first  trolley  I came  to  — I didn’t  know  where  any  of 
them  went.  The  baby  lifted  her  dear  red  curly  head 
wid  iv’ry  mile  we  got  away  from  the  town.  Twice 
we  changed  until  we  got  here  and  I was  afraid  to  go 
on  for  ’twould  leave  me  without  a nickel.” 

“ This  was  on  May  Day?  ” 

“ May  Day  it  was.  From  house  to  house  I went 
asking  for  work,  and  sometimes  they  shut  the  door 
hard  and  sometimes  they  took  a look  at  the  baby  and 
admired  her  hair  and  then  sent  me  away,  but  never 
one  gave  me  work  or  food.” 

“ Poor  child!  ” 

“ The  last  of  me  money  I spent  on  milk  for  the 
baby — a can  of  condensed  milk,  for  it  would  last 
longer  — and  some  crackers.” 

“ Where  did  you  sleep?  ” 

“ In  the  field  where  the  young  ladies  found  me. 
All  the  night  I lay  there  and  all  the  day  wid  the  sun 
burning  down  on  me.  The  baby  I pushed  under 
the  hedge  in  the  shade.  ’Twas  when  I was  in  a kind 
of  a doze-like  she  crept  through  the  hedge  and  the 
Miss  Ethels  saw  her.” 

“ I want  you  to  feel  that  you  are  safe  here,  you 
and  Sheila,”  said  Mrs.  Emerson  gently.  “ Mrs. 
Morton  and  Mrs.  Smith  and  I have  been  talking  it 
over  with  Kate,  and  this  is  what  we’ve  planned,  pro- 
vided you  agree.” 

Moya  gathered  up  her  baby  jealously  in  her  lap. 

“ It  will  keep  you  and  Sheila  together,”  said  Mrs. 
Emerson  quickly,  noticing  her  gesture,  and  smiling 
approvingly  as  Moya  at  once  let  the  child  slide  off 
her  lap  on  to  the  floor  where  she  sat  contentedly 
playing  with  some  of  the  pods  of  the  peas  that  had 
fallen  from  the  pan. 


38  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

“ Perhaps  Kate  has  told  you  that  we  are  planning 
to  have  some  women  and  children  who  need  country 
air  come  out  from  New  York  this  summer  and  live 
in  a farmhouse  that  we  have  on  the  place  here.” 
Moya  nodded.  “ She  did.” 

“We  need  a cook.  We  are  going  to  give  them 
simple  food,  but  nourishing  and  well  cooked.” 

“ If  it’s  me  you’re  thinking  of  for  the  cooking, 
ma’am,  I’m  a poor  cook  beyond  potaties  and  stew.” 
“ You  never  were  taught  to  cook?  ” 

“ Taught?  No,  ma’am.  I picked  up  what  little 
I know  from  me  mother.  ’Tis  simple  enough,  but 
too  simple  for  wdiat  you  need.” 

“ If  you’ll  try  to  learn,  here’s  what  we’ve  planned. 
Kate  needs  a helper.  Not  because  she  isn’t  strong 
and  hearty,  but  because  Mr.  Emerson  and  I want 
her  to  have  a little  more  time  for  pleasure  than  she 
has  had  for  a good  many  years.  She  won’t  take  a 
real  vacation,  so  we  are  going  to  give  her  a partial 
vacation.” 

“ Me  being  the  helper?  ” inquired  Moya,  her  thin 
face  lighting. 

“ More  than  the  helper.  Kate  has  agreed  to 
teach  you  how  to  cook  all  the  dishes  that  it  will  be 
necessary  to  cook  for  the  women  and  children  this 
summer.  You  couldn’t  have  a better  teacher.” 

“ I’m  sure  of  it,”  answered  the  young  woman, 
turning  gratefully  to  Kate.  “ I’ll  do  my  very  best.” 
“ You  shall  have  a room  for  yourself  and  the 
baby,  and  wages,”  and  she  named  a sum  that  made 
Moya’s  eyes  burn. 

“ I’m  not  worth  that  yet,”  she  cried,  “ but  I know 
you’ll  need  me  to  dress  respectable,  so  I’ll  not  refuse 


THE  FARMHOUSE  39 

it  and  I’ll  get  some  decent  things  for  the  baby  and 
mesilf ! ” 

“ If  Kate  finds  that  you  take  hold  well  she’ll  teach 
you  more  elaborate  cooking.  There’s  always  a place 
waiting  somewhere  for  a good  cook,  and  here’s  your 
chance  to  learn  to  be  a really  excellent  cook.” 

So  the  problem  of  obtaining  a cook  was  settled 
without  trouble,  and  as  Ethel  Brown  found  Mrs. 
Schuler  not  only  ready  but  eager  to  act  as  Matron, 
two  of  the  possible  difficulties  seemed  to  have  proved 
themselves  no  difficulties  at  all. 

Moya  and  Kate  went  with  the  Club  to  the  farm- 
house a fortnight  later  when  the  superintendent  had 
moved  out  and  the  young  people  gathered  to  go  over 
the  house  and  make  a start  upon  their  plans.  She 
made  her  way  at  once  to  the  kitchen  and  gazed  about 
her  with  delight. 

“It’s  iligant!”  she  exclaimed.  “ ’Tis  like  me 
grandmother’s  kitchen  in  the  ould  country  wid  the 
sun  shining  in  all  the  morning  and  a door  opening 
right  on  to  the  yard  wid  the  hens  pecking  around. 
It’s  me  and  Sheila  will  be  happy  all  day  here,”  and 
she  beamed  affectionately  at  the  Ethels,  who  had 
gone  into  the  back  of  the  house  with  her. 

In  the  yard  Elisabeth  and  Sheila  continued  their 
acquaintance.  Roger  sat  down  on  a bench  beside 
the  door  to  watch  the  progress  of  their  friendship. 
Sheila  showed  an  unconquerable  curiosity  concern- 
ing Elisabeth’s  legs  whose  girth  was  far  greater  than 
that  of  her  own  slender  spindles.  Whenever  she 
came  near  Elisabeth  she  stooped  and  ran  her  hand 
up  and  down  the  sturdy  props  that  appeared  below 
the  little  Belgian’s  rompers.  Elisabeth  did  not  seem 


4o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


at  all  annoyed,  but  she  always  reciprocated  by  seiz- 
ing Sheila’s  crop  of  flaming  hair  and  giving  it  a vig- 
orous pull.  The  initial  proceedings  over,  they  tod- 
dled on  about  their  affairs,  and  chatted  incessantly 
to  each  other  in  a language  of  their  own  invention, 
which  seemed  to  answer  all  needful  purposes  of  com- 
munication, though  no  one  but  themselves  under- 
stood more  than  an  occasional  word.  Roger  and  the 
Ethels  laughed  affectionately  at  the  manoeuvres  of 
the  babies  and  then  went  back  into  the  house. 

“ Keep  an  eye  on  those  children,  Moya,”  directed 
Ethel  Brown,  “ and  talk  over  with  Kate  what  you 
need  here  in  the  kitchen.  The  carpenters  are  com- 
ing to-morrow  and  they’ll  put  up  any  extra  shelves.” 

“ Mrs.  Allen  is  a good  housekeeper,”  said  Kate, 
referring  to  the  overseer’s  wife. 

“ So  I’ve  heard  Grandmother  say,  but  Moya  will 
have  to  cook  for  a larger  family,  so  she’ll  need  more 
shelf  room  and  perhaps  more  low  shelves  — hinged 
ones,  you  know  — that  can  be  used  for  tables.” 

Kate  and  Moya  both  nodded  understandingly, 
and  turned  to  the  examination  of  the  kitchen  as  the 
Ethels  followed  Roger  to  the  front  room. 

To  the  Morton  young  people  the  old  house  had 
almost  as  much  novelty  as  to  the  Hancocks,  the  Wat- 
kinses and  Miss  Merriam.  It  was  the  homestead 
of  the  Emersons,  Mrs.  Morton’s  family,  but  no 
member  of  the  family  had  lived  in  it  for  over  fifty 
years.  Tenants  and  overseers  of  the  farm  had  oc- 
cupied the  rooms  where  once  the  colonial  women  had 
spun  their  yarn  and  woven  their  cloth,  and  where, 
later,  the  men  had  cleaned  their  long  rifles  to  give  a 
warm  reception  to  the  British  soldiers  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary days  at  the  battles  of  Monmouth  and  Tren- 


THE  FARMHOUSE 


4i 


ton  and  Princeton.  The  house  had  been  kept  in 
good  repair,  but  its  low  ceilings  and  panelled  walls 
and  the  worn  planks  of  its  floors  betrayed  its  age 
while  they  lent  an  old-time  charm  to  a dwelling  sur- 
rounded by  the  conditions  of  a twentieth  century 
farm  so  well-ordered  and  so  modern  in  all  its  equip- 
ment that  Mr.  Emerson  had  felt  that  he  must  pro- 
vide his  overseer  with  a modern  house  to  match  the 
rest. 

“ This  must  have  been  a whale  of  a house  for  a 
colonial  farmhouse,”  commented  James,  from  his 
station  at  the  front  door,  where  he  could  look 
through  the  wide  hall  and  the  back  door  to  the  sun- 
filled  back  yard  where  Elisabeth  and  Sheila  sat  on 
the  ground  facing  each  other  and  tossing  handfuls  of 
gravel  at  a too  inquisitive  rooster  who  came  up  to 
investigate  these  newcomers  to  his  precincts. 

“ This  right-hand  side  was  all  that  was  built  for 
two  generations,”  explained  Mr.  Emerson.  “ This 
front  room  was  the  living  r<5om  and  the  kitchen  be- 
hind it  was  always  a kitchen.  Stairs  went  up  from 
the  kitchen  to  the  rooms  above.” 

“ Do  you  know  when  the  left  side  was  put  on?  ” 
“ Before  the  Revolution.  A son  of  the  house  was 
married  and  the  father  wanted  him  to  live  at  home 
and  continue  to  help  with  the  farm,  so  he  enlarged 
the  house  as  you  see  it  now.” 

“ He  just  about  doubled  it.” 

“ More  than  doubled  it,  because  there  are  as  many 
rooms  on  that  side  as  this  plus  this  hall  between. 
There  have  been  changes  upstairs,  partitions  taken 
down  so  as  to  make  larger  bedrooms,  but  none  down 
here.” 

“We  may  need  those  partitions  put  back  again,” 


42  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


said  Helen.  “ Let’s  decide  how  we  shall  use  these 
rooms.” 

“ The  kitchen  for  the  kitchen,  without  any  ques- 
tion,” said  Roger. 

“ And  this  room  right  in  front  of  it  with  a door 
between,  for  the  dining-room.” 

“ Now  about  the  rooms  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hall.  The  front  one  for  a sitting  room?” 

“ If  you’ll  take  my  advice,”  suggested  Mr.  Emer- 
son, “ you’ll  let  the  Schulers  have  the  back  one.  Mr. 
Schuler  won’t  want  to  be  going  over  the  stairs  any 
more  than  he  can  help  with  that  leg  of  his.” 

“ Or  that  no-leg,”  corrected  Roger.  “ All  right, 
let’s  mark  that  ‘ Schuler  ’ on  Ethel  Blue’s  plan  here. 
Shall  she  put  ‘ Sitting-room  ’ on  this  front  one?  ” 

“ I don’t  want  to  interfere  too  often  — but  your 
Matron  ought  to  have  a sort  of  office,  and  it  ought 
to  be  down  stairs  where  she  is  convenient  to  the 
kitchen  and  the  doors  and  so  on.” 

“ But  if  we  make  that  front  room  the  office  what 
shall  we  do  for  a sitting-room?”  asked  Ethel  Blue, 
holding  up  her  plan  for  critical  inspection. 

“ The  women  won’t  be  in  the  house  an  awful  lot,” 
said  Margaret.  “ They’ll  sit  in  that  grove  over 
there  and  stay  out  in  the  air.” 

“ There  ought  to  be  some  gathering  place  for 
them  in  the  evening,”  urged  Della,  “ and  those  city 
women  aren’t  accustomed  to  being  out  of  doors  and 
they’ll  like  to  stay  in  the  house  more  than  you  re- 
alize.” 

“ But  they’re  coming  for  the  purpose  of  being 
out  of  doors,”  remonstrated  Ethel  Brown.  “ They 
ought  not  to  be  in  the  house  any  more  than  they  can 
help.” 


THE  FARMHOUSE 


43 


“ You  can’t  boss  them,  though,”  interposed  Tom. 
“ You’ve  got  to  make  out-of-doors  so  attractive  to 
them  that  they’ll  want  to  stay  out.  Put  seats  in  the 
grove  and  in  shady  places  so  that  they  can  sit  and 
sew  and  talk  and  watch  the  kids  play.  They’re  used 
to  a lot  of  people  about,  you  know.  You’ve  got  to 
take  that  into  account.” 

“ They’ll  need  to  have  a sitting-room  in  the  even- 
ings and  on  rainy  days,”  urged  Della  again.  “ Why 
couldn’t  this  big  hall  be  fitted  up  for  a sitting-room? 
In  the  daytime  it’s  light  enough  with  the  doors  open 
at  both  ends,  and  it’s  wide  enough  for  plenty  of  fur- 
niture to  go  in.” 

“ For  more  furniture  than  we’ve  got,  by  a long 
shot!  ” exclaimed  Roger. 

“ We’ll  get  enough  furniture,”  promised  Dorothy, 
who  felt  experienced  in  the  construction  of  furni- 
ture because  she  had  furnished  an  attic  out  of  noth- 
ing at  all,  according  to  her  own  description. 

“ We’re  relying  on  you  for  ideas,”  returned 
Helen. 

“ Is  this  settled,  then?  ” asked  Ethel  Blue,  holding 
up  her  plan.  “ Front  room,  right,  dining  room; 
back  room,  right,  kitchen;  front  room,  left,  office; 
back  room,  left,  Mrs.  Schuler;  hall  to  be  turned  into 
a sitting  room.” 

“ That’s  correct,”  aproved  Roger.  “ Let’s  go  up- 
stairs,” and  he  led  the  way  over  the  staircase  whose 
balustrade  with  its  delicately  turned  spindles  had 
been  copied  by  Mr.  Emerson  when  he  built  the  new 
house  in  which  he  lived.  “ Four  rooms  up  here, 
and  a bathroom  and  a linen  closet,”  announced 
Roger,  “ and  a wide  hall  that  we  can  utilize  some- 
how.” 


44  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

“ Why  not  put  in  a partition  across  this  front  part 
of  the  hall  and  make  a room  of  it?  ” inquired  Ethel 
Blue.  “ It  would  do  for  Moya  and  Sheila,  and  it 
has  as  large  a window  as  any  of  the  other  bed- 
rooms.” 

“ They  aren’t  much  for  size,  that’s  the  truth,” 
commented  Roger.  “ I should  strangle  with  such 
portholes  in  my  room.” 

“ The  way  they  get  around  that  at  Chautauqua,” 
said  James,  whose  father  owned  three  cottages  there, 
and  who  consequently  had  been  observant  of  the 
ways  employed  by  summer  residents  to  make  them- 
selves comfortable,  “ is  to  take  out  the  sashes  en- 
tirely.” 

“What  happens  when  a storm  comes  up?”  in- 
quired Miss  Merriam. 

“ There  are  the  outside  shutters.” 

“ Let’s  do  that,  then,”  consented  Tom.  “ Any- 
way, if  we  don’t,  Miss  Merriam  will  have  a hard 
time  to  make  the  women  keep  their  windows  open  at 
night.  If  there  aren’t  any  sashes  the  difficulty  will 
be  solved.” 

“ I’ll  second  that  motion,”  agreed  Miss  Merriam, 
who  had  offered  to  give  talks  on  hygiene  and  sanita- 
tion and  ventilation  to  the  inmates  of  the  Farm. 

“ Are  you  prepared  to  meet  the  remonstrances  of 
the  victims?  ” 

“To  meet  the  remonstrances  and  convince  the 
victims,”  returned  Miss  Merriam  with  a smile. 

“ All  right,  out  they  go,”  declared  Roger,  and  he 
made  a notation  in  a blank  book  that  he  had  brought 
for  the  purpose  of  jotting  down  any  changes  that 
might  be  decided  upon.  The  new  partition  was  al- 
ready marked. 


THE  FARMHOUSE  45 

“ Are  four  bedrooms  — five  bedrooms  — going 
to  be  enough  for  us?  ” he  asked. 

“ Moya’s  room  will  be  only  large  enough  for  her 
and  Sheila,  but  these  others  will  hold  a mother  and 
at  least  two  children  — three  at  a pinch,”  decided 
Helen. 

“ Counting  three  in  a room,  that  would  be  twelve 
in  the  four;  fourteen  with  Moya  and  Sheila,  and  six- 
teen counting  the  two  Schulers,”  computed  James. 
“ I should  say  that’s  all  we’d  better  try  to  handle.” 

The  Ethels  looked  at  each  other  with  dismayed 
expressions. 

“ Sixteen  sounds  an  awful  lot  when  you  think  of 
what  it  all  means ! ” Ethel  Blue  said  in  an  under- 
tone. 

“ We’ll  manage  it  with  what  Mr.  Watkins’s 
church  contributes  and  what  our  own  grown-ups  giva, 
Don’t  get  scared  at  this  stage  of  things!  ” 

“ I’m  not.  It  was  just  facing  that  number  for  the 
first  time.” 

Mr.  Emerson  went  over  Roger’s  notebook  with 
his  grandson  when  they  went  down  stairs. 

“ There  isn’t  as  much  for  the  carpenters  to  do  as 
I thought,”  he  said.  “ Only  one  partition  to  put 
up,  the  sashes  to  be  taken  out,  a new  bathroom  to  be 
put  in  on  the  ground  floor  — ” 

“ Probably  some  shelves  for  Moya  in  the 
kitchen  — ” 

“ A lot  of  shelves  for  various  purposes  all  over 
the  house,”  interposed  Dorothy.  “ Shelves  answer 
a multitude  of  purposes.” 

“ You  shall  have  all  you  want,  my  dear.  But 
even  with  shelves  bristling  from  every  wall  there 
isn’t  enough  for  the  fortnight’s  work  that  I prom- 


4 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


ised  you,  so  I think  we’d  better  put  on  a veranda  on 
the  north  side  of  the  house.  It  needn’t  be  hand- 
somely finished,  but  it  can  have  a roof  so  that  it  will 
serve  as  a shelter  on  showery  days  and  it  can  be 
made  wide  enough  to  serve  as  an  extra  room.” 

“You’re  a perfect  darling!”  cried  Dorothy, 
throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

“ If  there  should  be  a door  cut  through  from  the 
dining-room  it  could  be  used  for  out-of-door  meals,” 
exclaimed  Ethel  Blue. 

“ And  the  babies  can  have  their  naps  there,”  cried 
Ethel  Brown. 

“ And  the  women  can  have  afternoon  tea  there,” 
said  Della,  dancing  a few  steps  of  the  butterfly  dance. 
Her  example  inspired  the  Ethels  and  they  marched 
up  and  down  the  hall  with  the  “ One,  two,  three, 
k-ack  ” step  that  had  been  their  expression  of  extreme 
pleasure  ever  since  their  babyhood. 

At  this  moment  of  exaltation  a roar  from  the 
backyard  sent  Miss  Merriam  flying  through  the  back 
door  of  the  hall  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with 
Elisabeth.  She  encountered  Moya,  who  dashed  out 
of  the  kitchen  door  at  the  same  moment.  Their 
faces  softened  into  laughter  at  the  sight  that  met 
their  eyes.  The  babies  were  clasped  in  an  embrace 
of  infantile  ferocity,  Sheila  pinching  Ayleesabet’s  fat 
leg  with  her  ever-strengthening  fingers  and  Ayleesa- 
bet  clutching  Sheila’s  red  mop  with  a strangle  hold. 

“ ’Tis  the  fighter  ye  are  like  your  granddad ! ” ex- 
claimed Moya,  tearing  her  howling  offspring  from 
Elisabeth’s  grasp. 

“ Elisabeth,  being  a Belgian,  is  ‘ some  ’ fighter, 
too,”  commented  Roger  as  he  lifted  her  from  the 
ground  and  put  her  in  Miss  Merriam’s  arms. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PLANS 

THE  work  of  the  carpenters  filled  in  very  ac- 
ceptably the  time  when  the  members  of  the 
Club  were  toiling  at  school.  All  the  boys  except 
the  honorary  member,  Dicky,  were  to  enter  college 
next  autumn.  Fortunately  for  the  outcome  of  the 
summer  campaign  at  Rose  House,  as  they  deter- 
mined to  call  the  farmhouse,  their  “ finals  ” were 
taken  comparatively  early  in  June,  and  after  those 
were  in  the  background  the  school  work  was  so  little 
demanding  that  these  senior  members  of  the  U.  S.  C. 
were  enabled  to  apply  themselves  almost  every  day 
to  the  preparation  of  the  house. 

Another  visit  of  inspection  toward  the  end  of  June 
gave  the  onlookers  the  greatest  satisfaction.  The 
partition  upstairs  had  made  a charming  little  room 
for  Moya  and  Sheila.  New  floors  had  been  laid  in 
several  of  the  rooms  down  stairs  where  the  old 
planks  were  worn  into  grooves  and  so  roughened  as 
to  promise  danger  to  infant  knees  from  splinters. 
The  veranda  was  a joy  — wide,  roofed  half  way 
over,  so  that  the  rooms  behind  it  might  not  be  too 
seriously  darkened  and  also  that  it  might  offer  an 
unsheltered  edge  for  those  who  liked  to  see  the  sky 
over  their  heads.  The  piazza  turned  the  corner 
and  ran  across  the  front  of  the  house,  unroofed.  A 
huge  rosebush  that  had  climbed  around  the  front 
door  had  been  uprooted  and  re-planted  at  the  corner 

47 


48  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


of  the  new  veranda,  and  its  blossom-laden  branches 
gave  the  name  to  the  house. 

Strips  of  “ chicken  wire  ” about  a foot  wide  ran 
up  each  post  of  the  porch  and  shrubs  and  vines  were 
transplanted  so  that  there  might  be  no  look  of  barren- 
ness, even  at  first.  Behind  the  house  vine-covered 
lattices  shut  oft  the  clothes-drying  yard  from  the 
grass  plot,  and  the  hens  were  removed  to  a yard  of 
their  own  at  a distance.  A shed  attached  to  the  rear 
of  the  house  was  fitted  with  windows,  tubs  and  run- 
ning water,  to  serve  as  a laundry.  The  brook  that 
crossed  the  lane  leading  to  the  pasture  ran  through 
the  flower  and  vegetable  gardens  that  the  Ethels  had 
planted. 

Grandfather  Emerson’s  promise  of  as  many 
shelves  as  Dorothy  wanted  had  been  fulfilled.  Moya 
had  shelves  to  her  entire  satisfaction  in  the  kitchen. 
In  the  hall-sitting-room  shelves  on  each  side  served 
as  writing  desks.  Others  answered  the  purpose  of 
tables.  In  the  bedrooms  banks  of  shelves  rose  as 
substitutes  for  bureaus,  and  a shelf  made  an  excel- 
lent dressing  table.  In  the  absence  of  the  ancestral 
wardrobes,  long  shelves,  placed  high,  provided  with 
clothes  hooks  underneath,  and  to  be  bordered,  when 
furnishing  time  should  come,  with  gay  curtains,  took 
the  place  of  closets.  On  other  shelves  stood  wash 
bo~  Is  and  pitchers. 

* It’s  only  by  what  is  placed  on  it  that  you  can  tell 
u wash  stand  from  a writing  desk,”  laughed  Mr. 
Emerson  when  he  went  through  the  house,  but  he  ad- 
mired the  simplicity  of  Dorothy’s  invention  and  him- 
self ordered  shelf  tables  to  be  placed  against  the  wall 
on  the  veranda.  He  had  already  contributed  a tool 
chest  and  a workbench  for  carpentering  operations. 


PLANS 


49 


“ Everything  is  as  fine  as  a fiddle ! ” exclaimed 
Roger  as  they  all  stopped  in  one  of  the  upstairs 
rooms  after  a tour  of  inspection.  “ Now  it’s  up  to 
us  to  do  the  papering  and  painting  and  to  concoct: 
some  furniture.” 

“ If  you  follow  up  Dorothy’s  good  beginning 
you’ll  have  a house  that  country  life  enthusiasts  will 
come  miles  to  see,”  laughed  Mrs.  Morton. 

“ I’ve  got  something  more  than  shelves  up  my 
sleeve,  if  the  boys  will  help,”  promised  Dorothy. 

“ The  boys  will  help,”  answered  Tom.  “ Mean- 
while the  boys  had  better  get  busy  with  the  paint 
brush  and  the  kalsomine  bucket,  I opine.” 

“ ‘ Opine  ’ meaning?  ” 

“ Nothing  but  ‘ think.’  I wish  I could  come  out 
every  day;  I feel  as  if  I weren’t  doing  my  share.” 

“ You  can’t  come  all  the  way  from  New  York 
every  day,  of  course.  But  you  do  such  a lot  when 
you  do  come  that  you  almost  put  a week  in  a Satur- 
day.” 

“ James  does  an  awful  lot,  too,”  said  Ethel  Blue, 
who  wanted  to  be  entirely  impartial,  and  give  James 
the  praise  that  was  due  him  for  coming  from  Glen 
Point  as  frequently  as  he  did. 

“ I think  I can  come  every  other  afternoon  from 
now  on,”  decided  James.  “ I’ll  try,  anyway.” 

“ Can  we  decide  about  the  coloring  now?  ” asked 
Margaret. 

“ Let’s  have  the  bedrooms  lovely  spotless  white,” 
suggested  Helen,  “ walls  whitewashed  and  curtains 
white,  and  white  beds  and  chairs  — O,  it  will  be 
lovely.” 

“ I don’t  believe  I agree  with  you,”  asserted  Miss 
Merriam. 

51 


5 o ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

“ O,  Miss  Gertrude,  why  not?”  inquired  Helen, 
disappointed. 

“ Patients  who  have  had  to  stay  a long  time  in  a 
hospital  have  told  me  that  the  spotless  whiteness  of 
everything  tired  them.” 

“ Sort  of  kept  them  on  the  stretch  to  keep  up  to 
it,  eh?  ” guessed  Tom. 

“ Perhaps  so.  Or  the  glare  tired  their  eyes,  or 
the  monotony  tired  their  minds.  At  any  rate  I think 
we  ought  to  think  twice  before  we  do  all  the  bed- 
rooms in  white.” 

“ I thought  it  would  be  such  a contrast  to  their 
regular  rooms,”  insisted  Helen. 

“ It  would  — too  much,  perhaps.” 

“ Do  you  know  what  the  coloring  of  ever  so  many 
of  the  New  York  tenement  rooms  is?”  inquired 
Della.  “ I’ve  been  into  hundreds  of  them  with 
Father,  and  they’re  usually  a sort  of  robin’s  egg 
blue.” 

“ That’s  a pretty  shade.” 

“ It  is  by  itself,  but  the  woodwork  is  usually  dark 
and  the  combination  is  ugly  — O,  my ! ” and  Della 
shrugged  her  plump  shoulders  in  disgust  at  the 
thought  of  it. 

“ That  very  same  shade  isn’t  bad  at  all  with  white 
woodwork,”  said  Miss  Merriam.  “ I planned  the 
re-decorating  of  a tenement  room  once.  The  wall 
was  in  pretty  good  condition,  so  I made  the  money 
go  farther  by  only  doing  the  woodwork  and  putting 
the  remainder  into  a new  piece  of  linoleum  for  the 
floor.  But  I had  the  wood  painted  white  and  the 
effect  was  really  pretty.  I chose  a blue  and  white 
linoleum  and  put  blue  and  white  cotton  curtains  at 
the  windows  and  it  was  as  bright  and  cheerful  a 


PLANS  5 i 

kitchen  as  you’d  want  to  see,  whereas  before  it  had 
been  gloomy  beyond  words.” 

“ You  don’t  object  to  white  paint,  then?  ” inquired 
Helen. 

“ White  paint  would  be  charming  with  walls  of 
different  colors  — pale  blue  and  light  gray  and  deli- 
cate yellow  — ” 

“ And  pink.” 

“ I don’t  advise  pink.” 

“ Don’t  advise  pink!  Pink  is  so  pretty!  ” 

“ I like  pink  myself,  but  there  are  people  who  say 
that  pink  and  red  are  exciting  for  weak  eyes  and 
delicate  nerves,  so  it  seems  to  me  I should  keep  the 
pink  for  some  room  that  isn’t  slept  in  — perhaps 
Mrs.  Schuler’s  office,  which  isn’t  an  office  at  all,  but 
a room  where  the  women  will  go  to  tell  her  their 
troubles  and  to  ask  her  advice,  and  which  should  be 
just  as  bright  and  cheerful  as  it  can  be.” 

Helen  liked  that  idea,  too,  so  it  was  decided  that 
all  the  bedrooms  should  have  white  paint  and  walls 
of  delicate  hues  and  that  Mrs.  Schuler’s  office  should 
be  pink  with  white  paint  and  white  curtains  at  the 
windows. 

“ We  can  get  very  pretty  papers  for  ten  cents  a 
roll,”  said  Margaret.  “ I saw  some  beauties  when 
I went  to  the  paperers  to  get  some  flowery  papers 
for  James  to  cut  out  when  he  was  pasting  decorations 
on  to  our  Christmas  Ship  boxes.” 

“ Are  you  going  to  use  wall  paper?  ” asked  Miss 
Merriam  quickly. 

“Aren’t  we?”  inquired  Margaret.  “It  didn’t 
occur  to  me  that  there  was  anything  else.  There  is 
paper  on  the  walls  now.” 

“ It’s  a lot  more  sanitary  to  have  the  walls  kalso- 


52  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

mined,  I know  that,”  said  James  in  a superior  tone. 
“ Haven’t  you  heard  Father  say  so  a dozen  times?  ” 
“ I suppose  I have,  now  I think  about  it,”  replied 
Margaret.  “ It  stands  to  reason  that  there  would 
be  less  chance  for  germs  to  hide.” 

“ Do  you  suppose  these  old  walls  are  in  good 
enough  condition  to  go  uncovered?”  asked  Roger, 
passing  his  hand  over  a suspicious  bulge  that  forced 
the  paper  out,  and  casting  his  eye  at  the  ceiling  which 
was  veined  with  hair  cracks. 

“ Probably  the  walls  will  not  be  in  the  pink  of 
condition,”  returned  Mrs.  Morton;  “but,  even  so, 
color-washing  will  be  better  than  papering.” 

“We  can  go  over  them  and  fill  up  the  cracks,”  sug- 
gested Tom,  “ and  we  can  whitewash  the  ceilings.” 
“ That’s  what  I should  advise,”  said  Miss  Mer- 
riam.  “ Put  the  walls  and  ceilings  in  as  good  con- 
dition as  you  can,  and  then  put  on  your  wash.  Kal- 
somining  is  rather  expensive,  but  there  are  plenty  of 
color  washes  now  that  any  one  can  put  on  who  can 
wield  a whitewash  brush.” 

“ Me  for  the  whitewash  brush  at  an  early  date,” 
Roger  sang  gayly.  “ What  do  you  suggest  for 
these  upstairs  floors,  Miss  Merriam?  Grandfather 
thought  they  weren’t  bad  enough  to  have  new  ones 
laid,  but  they  do  look  rather  rocky,  don’t  they?  ” 

He  cast  a disparaging  glance  at  the  boards  under 
his  feet,  and  waited  for  help. 

“ Were  you  planning  to  paint  them?  ” 

“ Yes,”  Roger  nodded. 

“ Then  you  ought  to  putty  up  the  cracks  first. 
That  will  make  them  smooth  enough.  They’re  not 
really  rough,  you  see.  It’s  the  spaces  between  the 
planks  that  make  them  seem  so.” 


PLANS 


53 


“ That’s  easily  done.  We  thought  we’d  paint 
these  old  floors  and  stain  the  new  ones  down  stairs.” 
“ I’d  do  that.  Paint  these  floors  tan  or  gray,  if 
you  want  them  to  confess  frankly  that  they’re  painted 
floors,  or  the  shade  of  some  wood  if  you  want  to 
pretend  that  they’re  hard  wood  floors.” 

“ I’m  afraid  it  would  take  more  imagination  than 
even  Ethel  Blue  has  to  deceive  you  into  thinking 
these  floors  were  hard  wood,”  laughed  Ethel  Brown, 
“ but  we  can  do  some  one  way  and  some  the  other 
and  see  which  effect  we  like  best.” 

“ Let’s  have  all  the  woodwork  white  downstairs, 
too,”  said  Helen.  “ My  mind  still  runs  to  white, 
you  see.” 

“ There’s  nothing  prettier  for  these  rooms,”  said 
Mrs.  Morton.  “ Make  Moya’s  kitchen  like  the  one 
Miss  Merriam  described,  and  freshen  this  panelling 
in  the  dining-room  and  hall,  and  nothing  could  be 
more  suitable  for  Mrs.  Schuler’s  two  rooms.  My 
advice  to  you,  Roger,  is  to  make  the  best  bargain 
you  can  in  white  paint,  and  start  in  at  once.” 

James  moved  uneasily.  Roger  guessed  the  rea- 
son. 

“ What’s  the  matter,  old  man?  Treasury  low?  ” 
“ It  always  is,”  answered  James  uncomfortably. 
“ How  are  we  going  to  fill  it?  ” 

“ That’s  what  I’ve  been  thinking,”  Ethel  Brown 
said  meditatively.  “ It’s  time  we  did  something  to 
earn  something.” 

“ I kept  up  Aunt  Louise’s  furnace  and  the  Miss 
Clarks  until  they  begged  for  mercy,”  laughed  Roger 
who  had  earned  money  for  the  Club’s  work  by  tak- 
ing care  of  several  of  the  neighborhood  furnaces 
during  the  winter.  “ All  my  customers  are  keeping 


54  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

me  on  to  cut  their  lawns,  but  Aunt  Louise’s  lawn  is 
only  the  size  of  a pocket  handkerchief  and  the  grass 
is  the  slowest  growing  stuff  I ever  did  see  so  I’m 
not  getting  truly  wealthy  out  of  it.” 

“ Margaret  and  I have  gone  into  partnership  and 
made  all  the  Morton  and  Smith  and  Hancock  sum- 
mer dresses,”  explained  Helen.  “ By  the  time  we’ve 
finished  them  we  shall  have  quite  a sum,  but  we 
haven’t  reached  that  happy  state  yet.” 

“Everybody  I’ve  sold  cookies  to  all  winter  seems 
to  have  stopped  eating  them,”  complained  Ethel 
Brown.  “ I’m  thinking  of  getting  up  a cooky  sale 
to  relieve  my  financial  distress.” 

“ There’s  an  idea,”  cried  Tom.  “ Why  can’t  we 
have  a cooky  sale  — with  a few  other  things  thrown 
in  — and  use  the  proceeds  for  the  decoration  and 
furnishing  of  Rose  House?  ” 

“We’ve  had  so  many  entertainments;  can  we  do 
anything  different  enough  for  the  Rosemonters  to  be 
willing  to  come?  ” 

“ And  spend?” 

“ I think  the  Rosemonters  have  great  confidence 
in  our  getting  up  something  new  and  interesting;  ditto 
the  Glen  Pointers,”  insisted  Margaret  who  lived  at 
Glen  Point  and  knew  the  opinions  of  her  neighbors. 

“ Where  could  we  have  it  — it  meaning  our  sale 
or  whatever  we  decide  to  have?  ” 

“ Why  not  have  it  here  ? Let’s  wait  until  the  boys 
have  the  house  all  painted  and  whitewashed  and 
colorwashed  so  it  looks  as  fresh  as  possible,  and  then 
tell  the  town  what  it  is  we  are  trying  to  do  this  sum- 
mer, and  ask  them  over  here  to  see  what  it  looks 
like.” 

“ Good  enough.  When  they  see  that  it’s  good  as 


PLANS 


55 


far  as  it  goes,  but  that  our  Fresh  Air  people  will  be 
mighty  uncomfortable  if  they  don’t  have  some  beds 
to  sleep  in  and  a few  other  trifles  of  every  day  use, 
they’ll  buy  whatever  we  have  to  sell.  That’s  the 
way  it  seems  to  me,”  and  Roger  threw  himself  down 
on  the  grass  before  the  front  door  with  an  air  of 
having  said  the  final  word. 

“ Let’s  ask  the  people  of  Rosemont  to  come  to 
Rose  House  to  a Rose  Fete,”  cried  Ethel  Blue,  while 
every  one  of  her  hearers  waved  his  handkerchief  at 
the  suggestion. 

“ I’ll  draw  a poster  with  the  announcement  on  it,” 
she  went  on,  “ and  we  can  have  it  printed  on  pink 
paper  and  the  boys  can  go  round  on  their  bicycles 
and  distribute  them  at  every  house.” 

“ We  must  have  everything  pink,  of  course.  Pink 
ice  cream  and  cakes  with  pink  icing  — ” 

“ And  pink  strawberries  — ” 

“ Not  green  ones ! No,  sir!” 

“ And  watermelons  if  we  can  get  some  that  won’t 
make  too  much  trouble  for  Dr.  Hancock.” 

“How  are  we  going  to  serve  them?  We  can’t 
bring  china  way  out  here  — and  we  won’t  have  any 
for  Rose  House  until  after  we  give  this  party  to 
earn  it ! ” 

“ They  have  paper  plates  with  pretty  patterns  on 
them  now.  And  if  they  cost  too  much  we  might  get 
the  plain  ones  and  lay  a d’oyley  of  pink  paper  on  each 
one,”  suggested  Margaret. 

“ Probably  that  will  be  the  cheapest  and  the  effect 
will  be  just  as  good,  but  I’ll  find  out  the  prices  in 
town,”  promised  Della. 

“ I have  a scheme  for  a table  of  fancy  things,”  of- 
fered Dorothy.  “ Let’s  have  it  under  that  tree  over 


The  Fancy  Table  Under  a Huge  Rose. 


and  both  suspended  from  the  tree.  Cover  them  in- 
side and  out  with  big  pink  paper  petals.” 

“ How  are  you  going  to  make  it  look  like  a rose 
and  not  a pink  bell?  ” inquired  Della. 

“ Put  a green  calyx  on  the  top  and  some  yellow 


EL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

ere  and  over  it  let’s  hang  a huge  rose.  I think  I 
know  how  to  make  it  — two  hoops,  the  kind  Dicky 
rolls,  one  above  the  other,  the  smaller  one  on  top, 


PLANS 


57 

stamens  inside  and  then  make  a stem  that  will  look 
like  the  real  thing,  only  gigantic.” 

“ How  will  you  manage  that?  ” 

“ Do  you  remember  those  wild  grape  vines  that 
Helen  and  Ethel  Brown  found  in  the  West  Woods 
and  used  for  Hallowe’en  decorations?  If  we  could 
get  a thick  one  and  wind  it  with  green  paper  and  let 


it  curve  from  the  rose  toward  the  ground  it  ought  to 
look  like  a real  stem.” 

“We  could  hang  the  rose  with  dark  string  that 
wouldn’t  show,  and  fasten  the  stem  to  the  branch 
of  the  tree  with  a pink  bow.  It  would  look  as  if 
some  giant  had  tied  it  there  for  his  ladylove.” 

“ I have  an  old  pink  sash  I’ll  contribute  to  the 
good  cause,”  laughed  Helen.  “ I’ve  been  wonder- 
ing what  to  do  with  it  for  some  time.” 

“ Everything  on  the  table  must  be  pink  and  shaped 
like  a rose  or  decorated  with  roses  — cushions,  pen- 
wipers, baskets,  stencilled  bureau  sets  — there  are 
a thousand  things  to  be  made.” 


58  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

“ Boxes  covered  with  rose  paper,”  suggested 
James  solemnly. 

Everybody  shouted,  for  James’s  imagination  al- 
ways seemed  to  be  stimulated  whenever  he  saw  a 
chance  to  make  something  with  paste-pot  and  brush. 

“ The  table  itself  — and  all  the  tables  we  serve 
the  ice  cream  on,  too  — ought  to  be  covered  with 
pink.” 

“ We  can  use  plain  pink  paper  on  some,  and  pink 
petals  on  others  and  white  paper  decorated  with 
roses  on  others  still.” 

“We’re  talking  a lot  about  tables  — we  haven’t 
a single  one.  Where  are  we  going  to  get  them? 
We’ll  need  a lot.” 

“If  we  use  makeshift  tables  — boxes  set  up  on 
end  for  instance  — it  will  impress  on  the  people  who 
come  that  we  really  need  tables,  and  they’ll  be  more 
likely  to  help  us  than  if  they  saw  us  using  borrowed 
tables  and  imagined  that  some  of  them  belonged  to 
the  house.” 

Dorothy  made  this  suggestion  and  was  applauded 
by  the  others. 

“ If  they  have  to  sit  on  boxes  they’ll  be  reminded 
that  we  need  chairs,”  Dorothy  continued. 

“ And  if  they  go  into  the  house  and  see  that  it  is 
perfectly  bare  they’ll  realize  that  we  aren’t  putting 
up  a howl  about  nothing  at  all,”  concluded  Roger. 

This  part  of  the  arrangements  was  worked  out  in 
detail  on  the  spot.  Ethel  Brown  agreed  to  ask  her 
grandfather  for  the  use  of  one  of  the  farm  wagons  to 
go  to  Rosemont  and  bring  back  a load  of  boxes  of 
all  sizes,  not  only  those  suitable  for  seats  and  tables 
but  other  larger  ones  which  might  be  utilized  later 
in  some  of  Dorothy’s  plans.  The  grocer,  the  dry- 


PLANS  59 

goods  man  and  the  shoe  store  man  were  all  to  be  re- 
quisitioned for  these. 

“ We’ll  buy  a lot  of  pink  stuff  from  the  dry  goods 
man  so  he’ll  be  willing  to  sell  us  the  boxes  cheap  or 
even  give  us  some  of  them,”  she  remarked  hopefully. 

“We’ll  have  to  go  carefully  over  all  those  we  use 
for  tables  and  chairs  and  make  sure  that  there  aren’t 
any  nails  sticking  out.  If  any  of  our  customers  had 
their  clothes  torn  they  wouldn’t  be  in  the  mood  to 
help  us  any  more.” 

“ Why  can’t  we  have  games  over  on  that  bit  of 
lawn  of  Mr.  Allen’s?  There’s  room  enough  there 
for  tennis  and  for  croquet  too.” 

“ And  charge  each  person  five  cents  a game  for 
croquet  and  ten  cents  a set  for  tennis!  ” 

“ That’s  all  right  for  the  croquet,  but  a tennis 
set  may  have  a dozen  or  more  games  and  last  an 
hour;  better  make  it  five  cents  a game  for  each 
player.  That’s  fair.” 

“ I’ll  bring  over  our  net  and  marker  and  some 
racquets  for  people  who  come  without  any.” 

“ How  are  they  to  know  they  ought  to  bring 
them?  ” 

“ Put  it  on  Ethel  Blue’s  poster,  of  course.  We 
ought  to  list  all  our  attractions  — refreshments, 
fancy  table,  games  — what  else  can  we  offer?” 

“ I’ll  tell  fortunes  again  if  you  want  me  to,”  of- 
fered Dorothy  who  had  acted  as  an  Irish  soothsayer 
at  the  Donnybrook  Fair  of  the  Rosemont  Charitable 
Society  on  St.  Patrick’s  Day. 

“ That  ought  to  be  done  ‘ under  the  rose.’  Can’t 
we  put  you  under  the  big  rose  and  have  the  fancy 
table  elsewhere?  ” 

“ That  location  is  too  open.  Have  Dorothy,  all 


6o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


dressed  in  rose  color,  in  that  rose  jungle  over  there,” 
said  Ethel  Blue,  indicating  a thicket  of  wild  rose 
bushes  near  the  prospective  tennis  court.  “ That 
will  be  a little  more  secluded  for  a heart-to-heart  talk 
like  prophesying  the  future.” 

“ How  do  you  do  it,  Dorothy?  ” asked  Tom. 

“ Oh,  I know  who  most  of  the  people  are,  and 
what  they’re  interested  in,  so  I tell  Adele  Strong  that 
she’ll  be  a great  singer,  and  Hattie  Perkins  that  she’ll 
outdistance  Michelangelo.  They  know  it’s  all  fool- 
ing, of  course,  but  it  amuses  them,  and  nobody  is  de- 
ceived.” 

“ Do  you  pretend  to  read  their  palms?  ” 

“ Sometimes.  At  the  Donnybrook  Fair  I read  it 
all  from  the  veining  of  a shamrock.  This  time  I 
can  pull  a rose  to  pieces  and  tell  it  from  the  pet- 
als.” 

“ How  about  music?  ” 

This  question  brought  silence,  for  it  was  not  easy 
to  arrange  for  music  in  the  open. 

“ I wish  Edward  and  his  violin  were  here,”  said 
Della,  referring  to  her  brother,  Dr.  Watkins,  who 
had  recently  gone  to  Oklahoma  to  assist  an  older 
physician  in  a flourishing  town  there.  He  had  been 
very  attentive  to  Miss  Merriam  and  she  was  annoyed 
to  find  herself  blushing  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 
Ethel  Blue,  who  had  been  in  his  confidence,  was  the 
only  one  of  the  young  people  who  glanced  at  her, 
however,  so  her  annoyance  passed  unnoticed. 

“ He  isn’t,  and  a piano  is  out  of  the  question.  I 
wonder  if  Greg  Patton  would  bring  his  fiddle  ? ” 

“ Why  didn’t  we  think  of  him  before ! He  and 
some  of  the  other  high  school  boys  have  been  get- 
ting up  a little  orchestra ; I shouldn’t  wonder  a bit  if 


PLANS  6 1 

they’d  be  glad  to  help  — glad  of  the  experience  of 
playing  in  public.” 

“ It  would  be  great  if  they  would.  Let’s  make 
them  put  MacDowell’s  ‘ Wild  Rose  ’ on  the  pro- 
gram, and  they  could  play  for  a rose  dance  of  some 
sort.  Can’t  we  invent  one?  ” 

They  had  all  been  at  Chautauqua  the  summer  be- 
fore and  had  learned  various  folk  dances  there,  so 
they  found  no  difficulty  in  re-arranging  one  of  them 
and  combining  it  with  another  into  a dance  whose 
graceful  steps  should  be  accompanied  with  the  wav- 
ing of  branches  of  roses. 

“ We  haven’t  got  to  make  oceans  of  paper  roses, 
this  time,”  remarked  Ethel  Brown  gratefully. 
“ Nature  is  doing  the  work  for  us.” 

She  waved  her  hand  at  the  clump  of  bushes  which 
was  to  conceal  Dorothy’s  fortune  telling  operations, 
and  which  was  pink  with  blossoms. 

“ Our  bushes  at  home  are  loaded  down  with  them, 
too, ’’said  Margaret.  “ Everybody’s  are,  so  I don’t 
suppose  it  would  be  worth  while  to  have  a flower 
table.” 

“ There’s  no  harm  in  trying.  We  could  say  on 
the  poster  that  exceptionally  choice  roses  will  be  on 
exhibition  and  sale  and  — and  why  couldn’t  we  take 
orders  for  the  bushes?  Use  the  beauties  for 
samples  and  if  people  like  them,  get  roots  from  the 
bushes  they  came  from  and  supplv  them  the  next 
day!” 

Ethel  Blue  was  quite  breathless  with  the  force  of 
this  suggestion  and  the  others  applauded  it. 

“ Just  as  I think  of  Ethel  Blue  as  all  imagination 
and  dreams  she  comes  out  with  something  practical 
like  that  and  I have  to  study  her  all  over  again,” 


62  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


said  Roger,  observing  his  cousin  with  his  head  on 
one  side.  Ethel  Blue  threw  a leaf  at  him  which  he 
dodged  with  exaggerated  fear. 

They  decided  to  have  the  Rose  Fete  just  as  soon 
as  the  boys  put  the  house  into  presentable  condition, 
and  then  the  girls  separated,  Ethel  Brown  and  Dor- 
othy to  see  Mr.  Emerson  about  securing  the  boxes, 
Helen  and  Margaret  to  measure  the  windows  for 


They  Converted  Ordinary  Chinese  Lanterns  Into  Roses. 

curtains,  Della  and  Ethel  Blue  to  work  out  the  de- 
sign for  converting  ordinary  Chinese  lanterns  into 
roses  which  they  had  thought  of  as  lending  a charm 
to  the  veranda  and  the  lawn  after  the  sun  went  down, 
and  the  boys  to  calculate  the  quantities  of  putty  and 
paint  and  color-wash,  based  on  information  given 
Roger  by  the  local  painter  and  decorator,  who  was 
quite  willing  to  help  with  advice  when  he  found  that 
there  was  no  chance  of  his  own  services  being  called 
into  play. 


PLANS 


63 


Miss  Merriam  found  Elisabeth  playing  amicably 
with  Sheila  in  the  kitchen.  Gertrude  absent-mind- 
edly tied  on  her  bonnet  in  preparation  for  the  home- 
ward trip. 

“ I wish  Edward  and  his  violin  were  here,”  she 
murmured  to  herself  as  she  tucked  her  charge  into 
the  perambulator. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ROSE  FETE 


HE  United  Service  Club  had  made  so  good  a 


name  for  itself  in  Rosemont  during  the  few 


months  of  its  existence  that  when  Ethel  Blue’s  post- 
ers brought  to  their  doors  the  news  that  the  U.  S.  C. 
was  to  give  a Rose  Fete  at  Rose  House  the  towns- 
people were  eager  to  know  what  attraction  the  mem- 
bers had  devised.  The  schools  were  still  in  session 
so  the  Ethels  and  Dorothy  at  the  graded  school  and 
Helen  and  Roger  and  the  orchestra  boys  at  the  high 
school  made  themselves  into  an  advertising  band  and 
told  everybody  all  about  the  purpose  of  the  festival. 
The  scholars  carried  the  information  home,  and 
there  were  few  houses  in  Rosemont  where  it  was  not 
known  that  Mr.  Emerson’s  old  farmhouse  was  to  be 
turned  into  a summer  home  for  weary  mothers  and 
ailing  babies. 

The  response  from  the  people  was  immediate. 
“ May  we  help?  ” was  a question  asked  one  or  an- 
other of  the  Club  members  every  day,  and  James 
and  Margaret  reported  that  the  Glen  Point  folk 
were  equally  responsive.  The  old  ladies  in  the 
Home  sent  word  to  Ethel  Brown  that  they  would 
like  to  make  a few  articles  for  the  fancy  table  if  the 
materials  could  be  supplied  them,  and  Ethel  at  once 
bought  several  bolts  of  pink  ribbon  and  a dozen 
chamois  skins  and  Ethel  Blue  drew  designs  for  pen 


THE  ROSE  FETE 


65 


wipers  and  jewel  boxes  and  eyeglass  polishers  and 
pen  boxes  and  pin  kits  all  to  be  made  of  the  leather 
and  ornamented  each  with  a rose. 

When  Mrs.  Schuler’s  friends  learned  that  she  was 
to  be  the  Matron  of  the  new  enterprise  and  that  the 
house  was  as  yet  destitute  of  furniture,  they  were 
eager  to  furnish  her  room  comfortably,  and  came  for- 
ward one  after  another  with  offers  of  loans  of  chairs 
and  a bureau  and  tables.  After  talking  with  the 
girls,  however,  Mrs.  Schuler  refused  such  articles  as 
would  not  be  found  in  the  other  bedrooms  of  the 
house,  saying  that  she  did  not  want  to  be  more  com- 
fortably equipped  than  the  women  under  her  care. 
Shelves  made  a good  enough  table  and  bureau  for 
any  one,  she  insisted,  so  she  only  accepted  a bed  and 
such  chairs  as  would  be  comfortable  for  Mr.  Schuler 
whose  crippled  state  demanded  something  easier  than 
a box  for  a seat. 

Helen  and  Margaret,  after  consulting  with  their 
mothers  and  Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Emerson,  had  de- 
cided that  a cot  or  single  bed  and  two  cribs  ought  to 
go  in  each  bedroom  except  Moya’s,  where  one  crib 
would  be  enough.  This  meant  that  five  beds  and 
nine  cribs  must  be  provided,  and  the  number  made 
the  girls  look  serious  as  they  calculated  the  probable 
proceeds  of  the  Rose  Fete  and  subtracted  from  them 
the  amount  that  they  would  have  to  pay  the  local 
furniture  dealer,  even  though  he,  being  a public 
spirited  and  charitable  man,  offered  them  a discount. 
For  a day  or  two  they  went  about  in  a state  of  de- 
pression, for  they  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  supply  the 
furnishings  without  making  any  appeal  to  the  grown- 
ups. Thanks  to  Dorothy  they  could  discount  any 
expense  for  bureaus  and  desks  and  tables,  but  their 

52 


66  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


ambition  did  not  soar  to  constructing  bedsteads;  these 
had  to  be  bought  or  given. 

It  became  evident  after  a number  of  householders 
had  inquired  how  they  could  help,  that  there  was  a 
chance  that  the  U.  S.  C.  treasury  might  not  be  re- 
duced after  all  by  the  purchase  of  beds.  When  one 
lady  was  informed  by  Helen  of  their  schemes  for 
filling  the  rooms  — how  the  carpenters  had  provided 
them  with  a table  that  would  do  for  the  dining  room 
and  how  shelves  innumerable  were  to  do  duty  for 
innumerable  purposes, — and  she  had  added  rue- 
fully, “ But  we  can’t  make  very  good  beds,  and  we  do 
want  the  women  to  sleep  well,  poor  things.  We’ve 
got  to  buy  those  — ” she  had  cried,  “ Why,  I have 
a cot  in  my  attic  that  I should  be  delighted  to  let  you 
have,  and  my  daughter’s  little  boy  has  outgrown  his 
crib  and  I’m  sure  she’ll  contribute  that.” 

A ray  of  hope  shone  on  Helen.  In  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton’s attic  she  knew  there  was  nothing,  for  Dicky’s 
crib  had  been  turned  over  to  Elisabeth,  and  there  was 
only  one  cot,  liable  to  be  used  in  an  emergency  and 
hence  not  to  be  spared;  but  Mrs.  Emerson’s  attic 
had  not  been  ransacked  for  a long  time,  and  she  pro- 
ceeded to  perform  that  kindly  act  for  her  grand- 
mother. A single  bed,  a crib  and  two  chairs  were 
the  result  of  this  raid.  Mrs.  Hancock  promised  a 
chair  and  an  old  sofa,  so  shabby  that  it  would  have 
to  be  re-covered  but  firm  on  its  legs,  and  one,  very 
weak  on  its  legs,  that  might  be  made  serviceable  if 
the  boys  would  strengthen  it. 

Some  one  else  gave  an  iron  bed  minus  the  spring; 
another  housewife  had  a mattress  she  was  about  to 
discard;  old  Mrs.  Atwood  down  by  the  bridge 


THE  ROSE  FETE 


67 


donated  a feather  bed  to  be  steamed  and  then  made 
into  pillows.  From  another  quarter  came  another 
cot  and  from  yet  another  a single  bed,  a crib  and  a 
cradle.  Still  another  housewife,  who  was  re-furnish- 
ing her  drawing-room,  bestowed  on  them  a tall,  old- 
fashioned  mirror,  cracked  by  the  careless  flourish  of 
an  umbrella  with  which  her  son  was  illustrating  a 
golf  stroke. 

“ Luckily  the  break  is  at  one  end,”  she  said  to 
Helen,  “ and  the  glass  is  so  large  that  you  can  have 
it  cut  into  two  or  possibly  three  small  looking-glasses 
for  the  bedrooms.” 

Helen  was  both  grateful  and  dismayed,  for  she 
had  forgotten  that  looking  glasses  were  necessary  — 
another  article  that  could  not  be  manufactured  by 
home  industry.  A week  before  the  Fete,  however, 
she  had  had  promised  all  the  bedsteads  she  needed  — 
though  some  lacked  springs,  some  mattresses,  and  al- 
most all  were  without  pillows  — four  cribs,  half  a 
dozen  chairs  and  two  high  chairs,  and  a collection  of 
odd  pieces.  She  refused  nothing  but  double  beds; 
there  was  not  space  enough  for  those  in  a bedroom 
with  three  people  in  it;  it  would  seem  to  the  women 
too  much  like  the  crowded  tenements  they  came 
from,  she  thought.  Miss  Merriam  objected  also, 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  not  well  for  babies  to  sleep 
with  grown  people. 

“ What  do  you  think  of  this  plan?  ” Ethel  Brown 
asked  her  mother  after  the  girls  had  made  a careful 
list  of  their  gifts.  “ We  did  think  that  if  we  didn’t 
have  a stick  in  the  house  the  people  would  be  inter- 
ested in  helping  us  because  of  our  poverty.  We’ve 
found  out  that  they  are  awfully  interested  even  with- 


68  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


out  seeing  the  house.  Do  you  think  it  would  be  a 
good  scheme  to  put  into  the  rooms  the  things  we 
have  ready  and  to  fasten  on  the  door  a notice  saying 

‘THIS  ROOM  NEEDS’ 

and  under  that  a list  of  what  is  lacking?  Don’t 
you  think  some  of  them  would  say,  ‘ I’ve  got  an 
extra  cushion  at  home  that  would  do  for  a pillow 
here;  I’ll  send  it  over’;  or  ‘Don’t  you  remember 
that  three  legged  chair  that  used  to  be  in  Joe’s  room? 
I believe  these  children  can  mend  it  and  paint  it  to 
look  well  enough  for  this  room  ’ ? ” 

“ Ethel  Brown,  you’re  running  Ethel  Blue  hard  in 
the  line  of  ideas ! ” cried  Roger  admiringly  from  a 
position  at  the  door  which  he  had  taken  as  he  passed 
through  the  hall  and  neard  discussion  going  on. 

“ It’s  a capital  idea,”  agreed  Mrs.  Morton. 
“ You’d  better  ask  Grandfather  again  for  a wagon 
and  go  around  and  collect  the  things  that  have  been 
promised.  You  don’t  want  to  bother  people  to  send 
them  over  themselves.” 

“If  they  have  a cart  come  to  the  door  to  pick 
them  up  they  may  throw  in  a few  extras,”  remarked 
Roger.  “ The  painting  and  color  washing  are  all 
done,  I wish  to  report,  Madam  President,”  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Helen,  “ so  the  furniture,  such  as 
it  is,  can  be  put  in  at  any  time.” 

“ Almost  all  of  it  will  need  a thorough  overhaul- 
ing first,  if  the  specimens  I’ve  seen  prove  anything,” 
replied  Helen.  “ Every  one  of  the  beds  needs  paint- 
ing and  some  need  strengthening  in  various  ways  and 
places.” 

“ Perhaps  I’d  better  go  round  with  the  man 
Grandfather  sends,  and  then  we  can  unload  in  the 


THE  ROSE  FETE 


6 9 


yard  behind  Rose  House  and  do  our  washing  and 
painting  and  repairing  and  upholstering  there  so  that 
all  the  things  will  look  fresh  and  be  clean  when  they 
are  taken  inside.” 

Every  one  worked  with  vigor  during  the  last  few 
days  before  the  fesival,  for  the  renovating  of  old 
furniture  takes  more  time  than  any  one  ever  expects 
it  to.  The  results  were  so  satisfactory,  however, 
that  neither  the  boys  nor  the  girls  gave  a thought  to 
their  tired  hands  and  backs  when  evening  brought 
them  release  from  their  labors. 

The  great  day  was  clear,  and,  for  the  last  of 
June,  cool.  Every  plan  worked  out  well  and  every 
helper  appeared  at  the  moment  he  was  wanted. 
The  box  seats  and  tables,  superintended  by  Ethel 
Brown  and  served  by  half  a dozen  friends  all  wear- 
ing white  dresses  and  pink  aprons,  bloomed  rosily 
on  the  veranda.  Under  the  large  rose  Della  and 
Ethel  Blue,  dressed  in  pink,  sold  fancy  articles. 
Dorothy,  sitting  “ under  the  rose  ” in  the  rose  jungle, 
and  dressed  like  a moss  rose,  with  a filmy  green  tunic 
draping  her  pink  frock,  described  brilliant  futures  to 
laughing  inquirers.  Margaret,  dressed  to  represent 
the  yellow  Scottish  roses,  sold  flowers  from  the 
Ethels’  garden  and  took  orders  for  rose  bushes. 

The  boys  were  everywhere,  opening  ice  cream  tubs 
for  Moya  in  the  background,  guiding  would-be  play- 
ers to  the  tennis  court  and  the  croquet  ground,  and 
directing  new  arrivals  where  to  tie  their  horses  and 
park  their  motors.  Every  member  of  the  club  was 
provided  with  a small  notebook  wherein  to  jot  down 
any  bit  of  advice  that  was  offered  and  seemed  profit- 
able or  to  record  any  offer  of  fittings  that  might  be 
made. 


70  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

Helen  took  no  regular  duty,  leaving  herself  free 
to  go  over  the  house  with  any  one  who  wanted  to 
know  the  Club’s  plans,  and  she  had  more  frequent 
need  than  any  of  the  others  to  use  her  book.  Ethel 
Brown’s  scheme  had  been  followed.  On  the  door 
of  each  room  was  posted  a list  of  articles  needed  to 
complete  the  furnishing  of  that  room. 

“They  certainly  aren’t  greedy!”  exclaimed  one 
matron  after  reading  the  notice.  “ This  says  that 
this  room  is  complete  except  for  bed  clothing.” 

She  waved  her  hand  around  with  some  scorn. 
Helen  dimpled  with  amusement. 

“ We  thought  we’d  make  one  room  as  nearly  com- 
plete as  we  could,”  she  explained.  “ You  see  this 
has  a bed,  two  cribs,  a looking-glass,  and  shelves 
as  substitutes  for  a washstand  and  a closet  and  a table 
and  a bureau. 

“ There  are  no  chairs,  child!  ” 

“ These  two  boxes  are  the  chairs.  We  had  a few 
chairs  given  us  but  they’ll  be  needed  down  stairs. 
We  think  they’ll  have  more  exercise  than  any  chairs 
ever  had  before.  They’ll  be  used  in  the  dining- 
room for  breakfast,  and  then  they’ll  be  moved  to 
the  veranda  to  spend  the  morning,  and  in  they’ll 
come  again  for  dinner  and  out  they’ll  go  for  the 
afternoon,  and  in  for  supper,  and  after  supper  they’ll 
be  moved  into  the  hall  which  is  to  serve  as  the  sitting 
room ! ” 

Helen’s  hearer  pressed  her  hand  to  her  head. 

“ You  make  me  positively  dizzy!  ” she  exclaimed. 
“ At  any  rate  I’d  like  to  make  this  room  complete 
according  to  your  notions,  so  I’ll  send  you  some 
sheets  and  pillow7  cases  and  blankets  and  a spread  if 
you’ll  allow  me.” 


THE  ROSE  FETE 


7i 


“ We’ll  be  glad  to  have  them,”  accepted  Helen, 
beaming.  “ Roger  will  call  for  them  if  that  will  be 
more  convenient  for  you,”  and  she  made  a note  of 
the  gift  and  the  time  when  it  should  be  sent  after. 

Other  women  remembered  as  they  examined  the 
door  lists  that  they  had  a mattress  that  could  be 
spared,  or  a pillow  or  two  or  a pair  of  summer 
blankets. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  for  ornaments,” 
asked  another. 

Helen  laughed. 

“ James  Hancock  has  an  idea  for  decorating  the 
walls  so  that  they’ll  interest  the  babies,  and  we’re 
going  to  have  fresh  cheese-cloth  curtains  at  all  the 
windows,  but  that’s  the  end  of  our  possibilities.” 

“ I have  several  bureau  scarves  that  are  in  good 
condition  but  they  have  been  washed  so  many  times 
that  they’re  a little  faded.  If  you’d  like  those  — ? ” 
she  ended  with  an  upward  inflection. 

“ We  would,”  replied  Helen  promptly. 

“ Could  you  use  some  prints  of  pictures  — good 
paintings?”  inquired  yet  another,  a person  whose 
taste  Helen  knew  could  be  trusted. 

“ We’d  be  glad  of  them.  We  can  frame  them 
in  passepartout.  We’d  be  especially  glad  of  madon- 
nas.” 

“ That’s  just  what  I was  going  to  offer  you.  A 
club  I once  belonged  to  studied  celebrated  paintings 
of  madonnas  one  winter  and  I made  this  collection. 
Many  of  them  are  only  penny  prints  and  some  ar ; 
cut  from  magazines  — ” 

“ They’re  perfectly  good  for  us,”  Helen  reassured 
her,  and  made  another  note  in  her  book. 

It  was  just  after  the  sun  went  down  that  the  girls 


72  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

gave  their  rose  dance  on  the  little  lawn.  Their 
dresses  were  all  pink  or  white  with  pink  ribbons,  and 
as  they  moved  in  the  twilight  and  waved  in  graceful 
curves  long  rose  stems  each  with  its  heavy  pink 
blossom  or  its  shower  of  small  blooms,  they  called 
forth  exclamations  of  delight  from  the  onlookers. 

“Good  work!”  “ Charmingly  done ! ” “Fine!” 
were  the  cries  that  reached  their  ears  as,  flushed 
with  the  exercise  and  the  knowledge  of  their  success 
they  flitted  into  the  house. 

Most  of  the  visitors  went  home  with  the  falling 
dark,  but  some  stayed  to  see  the  rose  lanterns  lighted, 
and  others,  who  had  not  been  able  to  come  in  the 
afternoon,  drove  or  walked  out  from  town  in  the 
evening  and  were  served  with  ice  cream  and  straw- 
berries from  a supply  that  had  been  wonderfully 
well  calculated. 

“ The  Club  won’t  have  any  left-over  cake  to  eat 
up,”  Ethel  Brown  whispered  to  Ethel  Blue  as  she 
passed  her  on  the  porch.  “ There’s  only  enough 
left  for  four  more  servings,  and  the  cookies  are  al- 
most out.” 

Ethel  Blue  silently  danced  a few  steps  to  show  her 
pleasure  and  went  to  the  kitchen  to  find  out  how 
Moya  was  getting  on.  Sheila  was  fast  asleep  on 
Moya’s  jacket  in  a corner. 

“ Tired?  ” asked  Ethel. 

“ It’s  weary  to  the  bone  I am  wid  the  stooping, 
Miss  Ethel  Blue,”  confessed  Moya.  “ But  I believe 
ye’ve  made  your  fortunes  and  the  house  will  be  fur- 
nished iligant.” 

Ethel  was  not  quite  so  sanguine,  but  after  the 
promised  gifts  were  gathered  on  the  next  day  she 
began  to  be  hopeful  that  the  money  they  had  made 


THE  ROSE  FETE 


73 

would  be  enough  to  provide  the  most  necessary  mat- 
ters still  unprovided. 

“ Let  us  have  just  a week  to  spend  this  money 
and  to  make  up  the  sheets  and  pillow  cases  and  cur- 
tains and  you  can  tell  Mr.  Watkins  to  send  out  the 
women,”  Helen  announced  triumphantly  to  Della. 

“ I’m  going  to  spend  the  week  with  Margaret  so 
I can  come  over  with  her  every  day  and  help,”  re- 
turned smiling  Della. 

“ Then  we  shan’t  need  a whole  week.  When  you 
go  home  to-night  please  ask  your  father  to  be  making 
his  selection  — four  mothers  with  two  children 
apiece.  You  and  Tom  can  escort  them  out  on  the 
Tuesday  after  Fourth  of  July. 


CHAPTER  VI 


POSTPONEMENT 

NO  one  but  Ethel  Blue  knew  that  Miss  Merriam 
and  Dr.  Edward  Watkins  were  engaged.  It 
had  come  about  only  after  a long  misunderstanding 
which  Ethel  Blue  succeeded  in  clearing  away,  and  it 
had  happened  so  recently  that  no  one  had  been  told 
when  he  walked  up  on  Dorothy’s  veranda  one  after- 
noon about  the  middle  of  July.  Cries  of  surprise 
and  shouts  of  pleasure  greeted  him.  Only  Miss 
Merriam  was  silent,  but  her  eyes  beamed  and  she 
gave  him  a cordial  handshake  that  did  him  good. 

“ When  did  you  get  back?  ” 

“ Didn’t  you  like  Oklahoma  ? ” 

“ Are  you  going  to  stay  East?  ” 

These  and  a dozen  other  questions  were  thrown 
at  him  so  fast  that  he  had  no  chance  to  answer  them. 
He  made  gestures  of  despair. 

“ I got  back  late  last  night.  I do  like  Oklahoma; 
I expect  to  like  it  even  better,”  and  he  shot  a humor- 
ous glance  at  Miss  Merriam.  “ I’m  not  going  to 
stay  East.” 

“ Why  did  you  come  back  so  soon?  You  hardly 
got  there  before  you  came  back.” 

“ Children,  children!  ” remonstrated  Mrs.  Smith. 
“ Don’t  ask  Dr.  Watkins  about  his  personal  affairs 
in  this  fashion.  Don’t  answer  them,”  she  urged 
him.  “ They  ought  to  know  better ! ” and  she  shook 

74 


POSTPONEMENT 


75 


her  head  at  Roger  and  the  girls,  who  were  surround- 
ing the  young  man  whom  they  looked  on  as  a great 
friend  although  he  was  much  older  than  any  one  of 
them. 

“ I don’t  mind  a bit,  Mrs.  Smith,”  returned  the 
doctor.  “ I had  hardly  reached  Stillman  and  been 
looked  over  by  the  physician  I went  out  to  work  with 
— that  is,  Pd  been  there  six  weeks  — when  he  had 
a patient  come  to  him  who  needed  an  immediate  oper- 
ation of  a kind  that  can  only  be  done  in  New  York 
where  they  have  special  equipment  for  it.  He’s  a 
rich  oil  man  so  he  didn’t  mind  the  expense  of  coming 
on  himself  or  of  bringing  a doctor  with  him  to  keep 
his  nerves  quiet  on  the  way.  Dr.  Billings,  my  chief, 
couldn’t  very  well  leave  some  serious  cases  in  Still- 
man, and  I happened  to  know  pretty  well  the  special- 
ists here,  so  I put  my  pajamas  back  into  my  bag  and 
picked  up  my  patient  and  here  I am.” 

“ Where  is  he?  ” inquired  Mrs.  Smith. 

“ At  the  hotel  now.  I went  to  the  hospital  early 
this  morning  and  arranged  for  the  operation,  and 
Pm  to  take  him  there  late  this  afternoon.  Between 
whiles  I came  out  here  to  see  how  my  U.  S.  C.  friends 
were  progressing.” 

His  eyes  lingered  on  Miss  Merriam  as  she  sat  in 
a low  chair  and  knitted  swiftly,  Elisabeth  at  her 
feet,  squeaking  a chatty  rubber  doll  uninterruptedly. 

“ We’re  O.K.,”  answered  Roger. 

“ We’ve  put  through  Roger’s  plan  for  the  Fresh 
Air  mothers  and  babies,”  said  Ethel  Brown. 

“ Have  you  got  time  to  go  over  and  see  Rose 
House  — the  farm  house?”  inquired  Dorothy. 

Only  Ethel  Blue  kept  silence,  for  she  guessed  that 
he  had  not  come  out  to  see  his  friends  of  the  U.  S.  C. 


7 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

so  much  as  one  of  their  friends.  She  noticed  that 
he  glanced  at  Miss  Merriam. 

“ I’d  like  to  see  it  very  much,”  he  replied.  “ Do 
you  suppose  we  could  walk  over  there  now?  ” 

“ Certainly  we  can,”  answered  Dorothy,  rising 
promptly. 

“ Dorothy,  I shall  want  you  to  do  something  for 
me  in  a few  minutes,”  said  Mrs.  Smith.  “ Dr.  Wat- 
kins will  excuse  you.” 

She  nodded,  smiling,  at  Edward.  Miss  Merriam 
blushed  even  more  vividly  than  before. 

“ Too  bad,  Dodo,  but  I’ll  tell  the  doctor  all  you 
know  and  more  too,”  consoled  Roger. 

“ Your  mother  said  she  was  coming  here  for  you 
to  go  with  her  to  the  Atwoods’,  Roger,”  his  aunt 
reminded  him. 

“ So  she  did.  The  girls  can  tell  you  all  we’ve 
done,  and  before  you  get  back  Tom  or  I can  show 
you  our  special  part,”  Roger  said  encouragingly. 

“ I’m  sorry,  but  I’ve  got  to  finish  something  I be- 
gan this  morning,”  said  Ethel  Blue  in  a faint  voice; 
running  into  the  house  to  avoid  further  questioning. 

“ Nobody  left  but  me?  ” said  Ethel  Brown  cheer- 
fully. “ Too  bad,  but  Miss  Merriam  will  go,  won’t 
you,  Miss  Gertrude?  And  between  us  we  can  tell 
you  all  there  is  to  know.” 

Edward  looked  first  at  Miss  Merriam  whose  eyes 
were  on  her  knitting  and  then  beseechingly  at  Mrs. 
Smith. 

“ I rather  think  your  mother  would  like  to  have 
you  go  with  her  and  Roger  to  the  Atwoods’.”  Mrs. 
Smith  said  in  response  to  the  glance.  “ Miss  Mer- 
riam will  have  to  do  her  best  to  entertain  the  doctor 
with  an  account  of  your  doings,  but  she  has  had 


POSTPONEMENT 


77 

such  a generous  hand  in  them  herself  that  I don’t 
believe  she’ll  omit  much  that  is  important.” 

“Will  you  go?”  Dr.  Watkins  asked  Gertrude 
softly,  leaning  toward  her  chair. 

“ I’ll  go,”  she  replied,  thrusting  her  needles  into 
her  ball  of  yarn. 

“ Elisabeth  will  be  good  here  until  you  get  back,” 
said  Mrs.  Smith,  trying  to  speak  as  if  she  were  not 
alive  with  interest  to  know  whether  what  she  guessed 
about  the  two  young  people  was  true  or  not. 
“ Take  your  hat,  my  dear,”  she  added  as  Gertrude 
vanished  into  the  house. 

When  she  came  out  she  was  wearing  a wide  hat 
with  a pink  lining  that  cast  a rosy  glow  on  her  cheeks. 

“ That’s  a fascinating  hat,”  murmured  Edward 
as  they  walked  down  the  path  to  the  gate,  “ but  I 
don’t  like  it  because  I can’t  see  your  eyes.” 

“ That’s  why  I wore  it,”  confessed  Gertrude. 

“ After  we’ve  passed  the  Clarks’  can’t  you  take 
it  off?” 

“ Perhaps,”  was  the  unsatisfactory  answer. 

“ You  received  my  telegram,  saying  I’d  start  East 
on  the  tenth,  didn’t  you?  You  were  the  only  one 
on  Mrs.  Smith’s  veranda  who  wasn’t  surprised  at 
seeing  me.” 

“ Ethel  Blue  knew.” 

“ Dear  little  Ethel  Blue ! She  helped  me  out  of  a 
hard  place  when  you  wouldn’t  speak  to  me.  I never 
should  have  known  what  you  were  angry  about  if  she 
hadn’t  told  me.” 

“ After  a long  time  she  told  me  what  she  had  told 
you.  So  I showed  her  your  May  basket  note  and 
told  her  I had  telegraphed  to  you  that  I — I didn’t 
object  to  Oklahoma,  and  I showed  her  your  reply.” 


78  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

“ That  was  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  It  has  seemed 
a thousand  years  since  then.” 

“ To  me,  too.” 

“ Really?” 

“ Really.” 

Edward  tried  to  see  the  blue  eyes  that  he  hoped 
were  glowing  with  earnestness  and  love,  but  the 
pretty  hat  was  in  the  way. 

“ Do  take  it  off,”  he  begged,  peering  under  the 
brim.  “ Your  sunshade  is  protection  enough  from 
the  sun  and  from  the  observation  of  Miss  Clark, 
too.” 

Gertrude  obediently  drew  out  the  pins  and  gave 
the  hat  into  his  hand. 

“You’re  the  very  prettiest  girl  I ever  saw  in  my 
life ! ” Edward  exclaimed.  “ It’s  worth  travelling 
two  or  three  times  from  Oklahoma  to  have  the 
privilege  of  setting  my  eyes  on  you ! ” 

Gertrude  laughed  happily  but  shyly. 

“ Now  I want  to  know  when  you’ll  marry  me?  ” 
he  asked. 

“ Marry  you?  ” repeated  Gertrude.  “ Why,  you 
aren’t  settled  yet.  You  can’t  talk  about  that  yet!  ” 

Her  sunny  face  grew  suddenly  overcast,  and  she 
drew  away  from  him  slightly  as  they  walked. 

“ I’m  settled  quite  enough  to  talk  about  it.  This 
is  the  way  it  is.  Dr.  Billings  didn’t  offer  me  any 
definite  terms  until  he  saw  what  kind  of  fellow  I 
was.  That  was  quite  right,  you  know;  I might  have 
been  a perfect  chump.” 

Gertrude  gave  him  a glance  that  meant  that  he 
who  would  think  such  a thing,  even  if  he  never  had 
seen  Edward,  was  one  of  the  same  stamp. 

“ As  it  happened  he  liked  me.” 


POSTPONEMENT 


79 


“ Of  course  he  did.” 

“ He  had  two  or  three  rather  difficult  cases  soon 
after  I got  there  and  I happened  to  give  him  some 
ideas  about  new  treatment  for  them  — ideas  I’d  just 
picked  up  in  New  York  — so  he  thinks  I’ll  be  valu- 
able to  him.” 

“ I should  say  you  would  be ! ” 

“ He  has  offered  me  a salary  — ” and  he  named  an 
amount  that  he  would  not  have  attained  in  New  York 
in  three  or  four  years  — “ and  when  our  combined 
practice  goes  over  a certain  sum  I’m  to  share  evenly 
with  him.” 

“ A just  man.” 

“ Generous,  too.  But  the  point  is  that  the  salary 
he  promises  me  is  large  enough  to  warrant  us  in 
marrying  right  off,  so  if  you  can  get  ready  in  a few 
days  we  can  be  married  before  I go  back.” 

“Edward!  ” 

Gertrude  gasped.  She  sounded  as  if  she  were 
taken  utterly  by  surprise,  but  there  was  also  a note 
of  sadness  in  her  voice  that  the  doctor  could  not 
diagnose. 

“Aren’t  you  glad?”  he  inquired. 

“ Glad?  O,  yes,”  panted  the  girl,  “ but  I can’t, 
I can’t.” 

“ You  can’t?  Why  not?  You  don’t  need  to  get 
a lot  of  clothes.  You  can  send  for  them  later. 
Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Morton  would  be  delighted  to 
shop  for  you.” 

“ I know  they  would.” 

“ As  for  Elisabeth,”  went  on  Edward  quickly, 
forestalling  another  objection,  “ they  can  find  some 
one  to  look  after  her  in  just  the  same  way  they  found 
you  — at  the  School  of  Mothercraft.  She  wouldn’t 


8o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


be  so  superior  a caretaker,  of  course  — there’s  no 
one  like  my  lady  love  — but  she’d  ‘ do 

“ There  are  plenty  who  would  do  that  as  well 
as  I,”  contradicted  the  young  woman,  “but  — but 
I just  can’t;  not  now,  Edward.” 

It  was  the  first  time  she  ever  had  called  him  by  his 
name  and  he  was  so  delighted  at  hearing  it  from  her 
lips  that  he  almost  forgot  in  what  connection  she  had 
said  it.  But  not  for  long. 

“ Why  can’t  you,  dear?  Tell  me.  I have  a right 
to  know,”  and  he  gave  her  sleeve  an  impatient  little 
tug. 

“ I suppose  you  have;  but  I wish  you’d  accept  my 
judgment  and  not  ask  me.  I can’t.” 

“ Tell  me  and  let  me  decide.” 

“ I can’t  let  you  decide  if  you  decide  against  what 
I know  is  right.” 

“ Tell  me,  anyway.” 

“ Perhaps  I’ve  told  you  that  I have  no  living  rela- 
tives, either  near  or  far.  I am  the  last  of  my  fam- 
ily.” 

“ Poor  little  orphan ! ” 

“ When  my  father  died  he  left  but  a very  small 
fortune.  It  was  unwisely  invested,  and  when  my 
mother  died  a few  years  later  there  was  almost  noth- 
ing left  of  it.” 

“ What  in  the  world  did  you  do?  ” 

“ I had  good  friends  — friends  of  my  parents  — 
and  I borrowed  enough  money  to  put  me  through 
college  and  through  the  School  of  Mothercraft. 
You  may  think  that  I ought  to  have  found  some 
work  when  I was  much  younger,  but  the  old  gentle- 
man I consulted  agreed  with  me  that  I ought  to  do 
credit  to  my  people  and  that  I could  do  that  and 


POSTPONEMENT 


8 1 

earn  my  Jiving  without  becoming  a drudge  if  I didn’t 
enter  some  blind  alley  employment  such  as  I should 
have  had  to  do  if  I started  when  I was  merely  a 
young  girl.” 

“ I should  think  so  — poor  lamb.” 

“ So  I’ve  spent  all  these  years  and  all  this  money 
educating  myself,  and  you  must  see  clearly  that  I 
can’t  marry  you  until  I return  the  money.  It 
wouldn’t  be  fair.” 

“Would  the  old  gentleman  object?” 

“ I think  he’d  be  glad  to  have  me  do  what  would 
make  me  happiest.” 

“Wouldn’t  you  be  happiest  if  you  married  me? 
Do  marry  me,  and  we’ll  save  up  and  pay  him  back  in 
a jiffy.” 

“ O,  no,  don’t  you  see  I couldn’t  do  that?  I 
couldn’t  accept  my  education  at  your  hands.  I must 
go  to  you  free  of  debt.  I must.” 

She  twisted  her  hands  nervously  and  Edward  look- 
ing down  at  her,  saw  that  this  was  not  a passing  emo- 
tion with  her  but  a deep  seated  belief.  He  asked 
gently,  “Would  you  object  to  my  having  a talk 
with  this  old  gentleman?  ” 

“Not  in  the  least  — only,  Edward  dear,  it 
wouldn’t  make  a bit  of  difference  what  he  said;  I 
can’t  marry  you  until  I have  paid  my  debt  to  him.” 
“ I won’t  pretend  that  I don’t  see  your  point  and 
sympathize  with  you,  too,  my  darling,”  he  replied, 
softly.  “ You’re  a plucky,  right-minded  girl  and  I 
honor  you  for  your  stand;  but  just  the  same  I wish 
you’d  marry  me  right  off,”  and  he  gave  a humorous 
groan. 

“Waiting  is  the  hardest  kind  of  work,”  sighed 
Gertrude;  “ but  perhaps  we’ll  start  out  all  the  better 

53 


82  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


for  waiting.  You’ll  have  time  to  save  up  your  sal- 
ary, and  perhaps  you  can  build  a little  house  in 
Stillman.” 

“Build  a house!”  repeated  the  doctor  with  a 
groan  that  was  not  humorous  this  time.  “ Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  you’re  not  going  to  marry  me  for 
so  long  that  I’ll  have  time  to  save  money  enough  for 
a house  ? That’s  — that’s  pretty  awful,  Gertrude ! ” 

She  looked  at  him  and  was  so  near  weeping  that  he 
could  not  rage  against  her  verdict  as  he  had  felt  like 
doing  but  a moment  before. 

“ I’ll  have  to  accept  your  decision,  of  course,”  he 
replied  sadly;  “but  you’ll  write  to  me  often,  won’t 
you?  ” 

“ Of  course  I will,  and  I’ll  tell  you  just  how  I get 
on  with  my  savings  and  you  must  tell  me  just  how 
you’re  getting  on  with  yours.” 

“ Can  you  make  any  calculation  of  the  time  it  will 
be  before  you  marry  me  at  your  present  rate  of  earn- 
ing? ” 

Gertrude’s  face  fell. 

“ Edward,  it’s  so  awful  I don’t  dare  think  of  it! 
But  I have  some  plans  that  I am  going  to  try  to  work 
out  for  making  more,  and  — we  must  hope  and  hope 
that  everything  will  turn  out  well  for  us.” 

“ Where  is  this  wretched  house  we’ve  come  out  to 
see  ? ” inquired  the  doctor,  looking  about  him  sud- 
denly as  he  realized  that  they  had  walked  nearly  to 
the  Emersons’. 

“ Here  at  the  left.  Don’t  you  remember  the  old 
Emerson  homestead?  The  children  have  started  a 
Fresh  Air  home  there,  and  they  have  a dozen  women 
and  babies  established  in  the  old  place.” 

“ Aren’t  they  winners,  those  kids ! Their  per- 


POSTPONEMENT 


83 


slstency  deserves  to  win!  I suppose  we’ve  got  to 
go  in  or  we’ll  be  drowned  with  questions  we  can’t 
answer  when  we  go  back.” 

They  walked  gravely  up  the  lane  that  led  to  the 
house. 

“ Isn’t  the  veranda  new?  I don’t  remember  see- 
ing it  before.” 

“ That  and  one  partition  to  make  a new  room  are 
the  only  changes  they  made,  but  they  cleaned  and 
painted  and  ‘ did  over  ’ the  whole  house,  and  they’re 
still  furnishing  it.  You  can  see  what  they  have  for 
chairs  and  tables  on  the  porch  — boxes.” 

“ Simple  but  entirely  convenient,”  approved  Ed- 
ward. “ Can  we  go  in?  ” 

“ Mrs.  Schuler  is  the  Matron.  She’ll  be  glad  to 
see  you.” 

She  was  and  she  showed  her  guests  over  the 
renovated  building  from  one  end  to  the  other  and 
relieved  Miss  Merriam  of  the  explanations  that 
would  have  been  a great  strain  on  her,  excited  as 
she  was.  Edward’s  interest  was  somewhat  forced, 
but  genuine,  none  the  less. 

“ The  furnishing  is  reduced  to  lowest  terms,” 
Mrs.  Schuler  explained,  “ out  of  necessity.  This 
large  dining  room  table  and  the  small  one,  the  car- 
penters made  out  of  planks,  but  the  girls  made  a 
cotton  flannel  pad  to  go  over  them  and  covers  of 
unbleached  cotton  sheeting  stencilled  along  the  edge 
with  a pattern  in  blue,  and  they’re  really  pretty.” 

The  doctor  agreed. 

“ Where  did  they  get  their  table  linen?  ” 

“ The  ‘ linen  ’ is  cotton,  but  Moya  keeps  it  beauti- 
fully washed  with  the  help  of  the  women,  so  it  al- 
ways looks  spotless.  The  china  is  blue  and  white  — 


84  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


the  very  cheapest  to  be  had,  but  it  is  pretty  never- 
theless. The  curtains,  you  see,  are  only  cheese- 
cloth, but  they  are  stencilled  with  the  same  blue  pat- 
tern that  is  on  the  table  cover,  and  they  hang  in  soft 
folds,  and  I don’t  think  you’d  ask  for  anything  more 
suitable.” 

“ I certainly  should  not.” 

“ This  is  Moya’s  department  back  here,”  and 
Mrs.  Schuler  opened  the  door  into  the  kitchen  where 
Moya,  brisk  and  contented,  sat  among  her  shining 
tins,  peeling  potatoes  and  casting  an  occasional 
glance  out  of  the  low  window  to  Sheila,  playing  hap- 
pily in  a sand  heap  with  two  or  three  other  chil- 
dren. Moya  rose  as  the  party  came  in  and  pointed 
out  the  beauties  of  her  kitchen  with  due  pride.  The 
young  ladies  had  given  her  curtains  just  like  those 
in  the  dining  room,  she  said,  and  her  cooking  utensils 
were  white  and  blue  and  the  earthenware  dishes 
which  could  be  cooked  in  and  served  on  the  table 
afterwards  were  blue  outside  and  white  inside.  The 
linoleum  was  blue  and  white  and  a strip  of  plaster 
above  the  old-fashioned  wainscot  was  washed  with  a 
light  blue. 

A draining  board  sloped  toward  one  side  of  the 
sink,  a table  stood  at  the  other.  Above  the  table 
were  open  shelves  laden  with  two  quart  preserve 
jars,  filled  with  rice,  hominy,  tapioca,  dried  beans 
and  peas  and  such  cereals  as  were  in  every  day  use. 
The  contents  could  be  seen  easily  and  the  red-bor- 
dered labels  gave  a touch  of  gay  color.  The  lowest 
of  the  shelves  held  utensils  and  from  its  edge  dangled 
spoons,  sharp  knives  and  saucepans,  so  that  a cook 
might  do  a large  part  of  her  work  without  moving 
from  the  spot. 


POSTPONEMENT 


85 


“ We’re  very  short  of  chairs  at  Rose  House,” 
laughed  Mrs.  Schuler,  “ hut  Moya  has  a comfortable 
one  here  so  that  she  may  sit  down  and  rest  her  tired 
feet  whenever  she  has  a chance.” 

Against  the  wall  in  other  parts  of  the  room  were 
hinged  shelves  which  could  be  raised  to  serve  as 
tables  or  let  down  flat  to  be  out  of  the  way. 

“ When  the  women  come  here  to  help  me  wid  the 
vegetables  they  sit  before  them,”  explained  Moya, 
“ and  whin  they  go  away,  down  they  go  again.” 

“ They  bring  their  chairs  with  them,  I suppose,” 
observed  Dr.  Watkins,  noticing  that  there  was  but 
one  in  the  room. 

“ They  do,”  laughed  the  cook.  “ You  remarked 
that  there’s  no  chairs  in  the  dining  room.  ’Tis  be- 
cause they’s  out  on  the  porch.  When  supper  time 
comes  the  furniture  of  the  porch  is  brought  into  the 
house.” 

“ What  do  you  do  for  high  chairs  for  the  chil- 
dren? ” 

“ Ivery  day  almost  Mr.  Roger  or  Mr.  James  or 
Mr.  Tom  makes  a chair.  You’ll  see  the  iligant  ones 
when  you  go  out  on  the  porch.  ’Tis  surprising  how 
a pile  of  boxes  can  be  made  into  a chair ! ” 

From  the  kitchen  they  passed  into  the  hall,  used 
now  as  a sitting  room,  and  with  the  Matron  they 
smiled  at  the  scarcity  of  furniture.  There  were  no 
chairs,  for  they  were  all  out  of  doors,  but  Mrs.  Han- 
cock’s two  sofas,  strengthened  and  re-covered  with 
gay  cretonne,  made  lively  bits  of  color.  Shelves 
against  the  wall  served  as  tables  and  desks  and  were 
strewn  with  picture  books  and  magazines  and  bits  of 
sewing.  As  the  hall  was  lighted  only  from  the  doors 
at  each  end,  not  only  was  the  woodwork  white  but 


86  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


the  wash  above  the  panelling  was  yellow  to  brighten 
the  dusky  interior.  A litter  of  children’s  toys  on 
the  floor  gave  a lived-in  look  to  the  long  room  in 
spite  of  its  scanty  furnishing. 

Mrs.  Schuler’s  “ office  ” was  decorated  in  pink  — 
the  walls,  the  pattern  stencilled  on  the  cheesecloth 
curtains,  and  the  cushions  of  the  chairs  that  stood 
cosily  face  to  face  before  the  shelf-desk,  on  which 
lay  a pink  blotter. 

“ These  chairs  came  out  of  Mrs.  Emerson’s  attic,” 
explained  Mrs.  Schuler.  “ The  boys  stiffened  their 
legs  and  painted  them  white,  and  the  girls  made 
cushions  out  of  excelsior  and  covered  them  with  pink 
denim.  By  next  week  there  will  be  some  pictures  in 
every  room.  The  next  meeting  of  the  Club  is  to  be 
a framing  bee.” 

The  upstairs  bedrooms  were  practically  all  alike 
in  what  was  in  them  but  they  differed  in  coloring. 
The  old  bedsteads  had  been  freshened  with  white 
enamel  paint;  the  washstand-shelves  were  covered 
with  white  marblecloth  and  draped  with  hangings  of 
unbleached  cotton  sheeting,  as  was  the  dressing-table- 
shelf  and  the  high  closet-shelf,  and  a curtain  of  the 
sheeting  hung  across  the  shelves  that  served  as  a 
bureau.  Boxes  turned  on  end  or  upside  down  made 
seats,  and,  as  they  were  padded  with  an  old  “ com- 
fortable ” which  Mrs.  Morton  had  allowed  the  girls 
to  cut  up,  they  apparently  were  not  wwcomfortable. 
A full  skirt  of  the  sheeting  and  a top  of  the  same 
useful  material  made  them  not  ugly  to  look  upon. 

“ We’ve  been  perfectly  impartial,”  Mrs.  Schuler 
said.  “ No  one  has  a single  piece  of  furniture  that 
some  one  else  has  not.” 

“ Isn’t  there  danger  of  the  women  getting  lost 


POSTPONEMENT  87 

through  not  being  able  to  tell  one  room  from  an- 
other? ” inquired  the  doctor  gravely. 

“ You  haven’t  noticed  James’s  precaution  against 
that,”  returned  Mrs.  Schuler.  “ Do  you  see,  he  has 
made  this  a rooster  room.  He  hunted  up  a lot  of 
old  poultry  magazines  and  children’s  picture  books 
and  cut  out  the  gorgeous  cockerels  whose  portraits 
were  shown  in  them.  He  pasted  one  on  the  head- 
board  and  one  on  the  footboard  of  the  bed,  stuck 
others  on  the  various  shelf  curtains  and  enough  to 
make  a border  at  the  top  of  the  wall.  Della  sten- 
cilled small  ones  on  the  cheesecloth  window  curtains. 
The  mothers  like  them,  and  the  children  who  are 
large  enough  to  notice,  go  into  fits  of  joy  over 
them.” 

“ They  do  look  gay  against  the  gray  wall.” 

“ The  next  room  is  blue,  as  you  see,  and  here  he 
put  blue-gray  dogs  and  puppies  everywhere.  See 
them  scampering  along  to  make  a frieze?  That’s 
enough  to  make  any  child  gurgle  with  delight.” 

“ What  are  the  rest?  ” 

“ The  yellow  room  has  kittens  of  all  shades  and 
markings,  and  the  violet  walls  are  covered  with 
Jersey  cows.  The  background  is  very  becoming  to 
their  tan  coats.” 

“ You’ll  howl  over  Moya’s  room,”  said  Gertrude, 
breaking  her  silence  lest  it  be  noticed  by  Mrs. 
Schuler.  “ She  had  her  choice  of  animals  and  color- 
ings and  what  do  you  think  she  selected?  ” 

“ I can’t  imagine.” 

“ Pigs ! Pigs ! So  she  has  a frieze  of  tiny  Irish 
porkers  all  pinky-white,  against  a background  just  a 
trifle  pinkier  than  they  are.  They’re  droll ! ” 

“ It  makes  her  think  of  home,  I suppose.” 


88  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ She  says  so.  And  Sheila  evidently  inherits  her 
mother’s  fondness  for  the  national  family  friend,  for 
she  points  to  them  and.  has  names  for  those  she  can 
see  from  her  crib.” 

On  the  veranda  as  they  left  the  house  sat  most 
of  the  women,  sewing  or  talking  together  or  playing 
with  their  babies.  They  looked  curiously  after  Dr. 
Watkins  and  Miss  Merriam  as  they  went  away  down 
the  lane. 

“ They  make  a fine  couple,”  was  their  comment. 

In  their  inmost  hearts  Edward  and  Gertrude 
thought  so  too. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FURNITURE  MAKING 


IT  did  not  take  the  women  long  to  adjust  them- 
selves to  life  at  Rose  House,  and  as  for  the  chil- 
dren, they  loved  it  from  the  first.  It  was  a great 
international  gathering  that  was  sheltered  on  the  old 
farm.  Mrs.  Schuler  was  German;  Moya,  Irish. 
Mrs.  Peterson,  a Swede,  occupied  the  rooster  room 
with  her  baby  and  her  flaxen-haired  daughter  of 
three ; Mrs.  Paterno,  an  Italian,  found  good  pastur- 
age among  the  cows  of  the  violet  room  for  her  black- 
eyed  boys  of  two  and  four;  Mrs.  Tsanou,  a uul- 
garian,  told  the  Matron  that  her  twin  girl  babies 
were  too  young  to  pay  attention  to  the  kittens  on  the 
curtains  of  the  yellow  room ; while  Mrs.  \ eresn- 
chagin,  a Russian,  discovered  that  the  puppies  of  the 
blue  room  were  a great  help  to  her  in  holding  the 
attention  of  her  boys  of  three  and  five  when  she  was 
putting  them  to  bed. 

Mrs.  Schuler  shook  her  head  doubtfully  when  she 
took  down  their  names  and  nationalities  in  her  note- 
book on  the  day  of  their  arrival. 

“ If  we  get  through  the  summer  without  quarrels 
over  the  war  it  will  be  a miracle !”  she  exclaimed  to 
her  husband. 

But  she  found  that  the  poor  creatures  were  too 
weary,  too  sad,  too  physically  crushed  to  have  spirit 
enough  left  to  fight  any  battles,  even  those  of  words. 
With  almost  every  one  of  them  there  had  been  a 

89 


90  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


tragedy  such  as  often  comes  to  the  immigrants  who 
reach  the  United  States  equipped  for  success  only 
with  strong  muscles — a tragedy  of  wasted  hope  and 
broken  courage  and  failing  vigor  if  not  of  death. 
Mrs.  Paterno  was  the  only  one  of  them  who  could 
sympathize  with  Moya’s  widowhood;  her  husband 
had  seen  the  Black  Hand  death  sign  a few  months 
before,  had  disregarded  it  and  had  been  stabbed  in 
the  back  one  night  as  he  came  home  from  his  work. 
His  wife  was  now  a stooping,  terror-stricken  woman, 
looking  fearfully  over  her  shoulder  at  every  unusual 
sound,  and  snatching  up  her  children  and  rushing  to 
her  room  with  them  once  or  twice  a day  whenever 
she  saw  a stranger  turning  into  the  lane  that  led  to 
the  house. 

Mrs.  Tsanoff  was  a recent  arrival  in  America, 
having  come  across  with  her  husband  after  the  sec- 
ond Balkan  war,  with  the  cries  of  her  dying  father 
and  brother  ringing  in  her  ears  and  no  knowledge  of 
the  hardships  waiting  here  for  an  unskilled  laborer 
who  knew  not  a word  of  English.  There  had  been 
work  at  first  at  a wage  that  seemed  ample  to  them 
when  it  was  offered  and  proved  to  be  ridiculously 
small  when  they  learned  the  cost  of  living  in  New 
York.  When  the  first  “ job  ” ended,  her  “ man  ” 
had  walked  the  streets  in  a vain  hunt  for  work  for 
which  he  was  not  so  well  fitted  physically  now  as 
he  had  been  when  he  first  landed,  although  now  he 
knew  enough  of  the  language  to  understand  what  the 
“ Boss  ” said  to  him. 

“ They  use  him  up ; they  throw  him  away,”  she 
had  complained  pathetically  to  Mr.  Watkins  when 
he  found  her  at  his  chapel  office  one  day,  almost 
starving.  He  had  found  work  for  her  “ man  ” 


FURNITURE  MAKING  91 

and  had  impressed  on  the  wife  that  she  must  do  her 
best  to  get  well  at  Rose  House  so  that  they  might 
spend  the  next  winter  together  and  not  be  separated. 

Mrs.  Peterson’s  husband  had  been  a janitor  in  an 
apartment  house  until  an  attack  of  pneumonia  lost 
him  his  41  job  ” which  his  wife  did  not  speak  enougn 
English  to  carry  for  him  until  his  recovery.  There 
had  followed  a long  struggle  to  pay  the  doctor,  the 
rent,  the  grocer,  out  of  savings  that  were  sufficient 
for,  perhaps,  a week  of  44  rainy  days  certainly 
not  for  a whole  44  rainy  ” season.  At  last  Mr.  Wat- 
kins had  found  work  for  Mr.  Peterson  at  a 44  camp  ” 
in  the  Adirondacks,  where  he  could  have  light  work 
and  the  benefit  of  the  high  altitude  during  the  sum- 
mer, while  his  wife  an'd  the  children  at  Rosemont 
recovered  from  the  result  of  their  months  of  priva- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Vereshchagin’s  husband  had  the  wonderful 
knowledge  of  languages  that  is  common  to  his  coun- 
trymen, and  had  acted  as  interpreter  in  one  of  the 
courts  of  the  lower  east  side.  Sometimes  he  was 
sent  up-town  to  interpret.  It  was  when  he  was  on 
his  way  north  in  a Fourth  Avenue  car  one  day  that 
he  saw  a crowd  in  Union  Square  and  jumped  off  to 
find  out  what  was  going  on.  It  proved  to  be  a gath- 
ering of  malcontents,  carrying  inflammatory  banners 
and  listening  with  satisfaction  to  orators  who  did 
their  best  to  arouse  hatred  against  all  people  whom 
they  thought  better  off  than  themselves,  and  against 
all  government.  With  other  onlookers,  Veresh- 
chagin listened  from  the  outskirts  but  a stir  ot  the 
throng  pushed  him  toward  the  centre  just  as  the 
policemen,  tired  of  hearing  themselves  called  Irish 
vipers,”  broke  their  way  through,  clubbing  any  head 


92  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


that  was  in  their  way.  The  Russian’s  was  one. 
When  he  came  to  his  senses  in  the  hospital  he  found 
himself  under  arrest  “ for  resisting  an  officer.” 
When  he  was  able  to  go  into  court  he  was  tried,  con- 
victed in  spite  of  his  protestations,  and  sent  to  Black- 
well’s Island  for  three  months.  His  wife  was  over- 
come by  the  disgrace  and  the  injustice  and  fell  ill. 
A visiting  nurse  reported  her  case  to  Mr.  Watkins, 
with  the  result  that,  as  soon  as  she  was  able,  she  was 
brought  to  Rose  House  to  convalesce  and  await  her 
husband’s  release.  Whether  he  would  be  re-in- 
stated in  his  court  position  or  whether  his  conviction 
would  bar  him  from  the  only  work  for  which  he  was 
fitted  was  yet  to  be  seen. 

Conversation  was  not  carried  on  fluently  among 
them.  They  met  on  the  common  ground  of  Eng- 
lish, but  not  one  of  them  could  speak  it  well,  each 
one  translated  phrases  of  her  own  tongue  quite  liter- 
ally, and  the  meaning  of  the  whole  talk  was  largely 
a matter  of  guesswork.  What  they  did  understand 
was  nature’s  language  of  motherhood.  They  were 
content  to  sit  for  hours  on  the  veranda  or  in  the 
grove  or  behind  the  house,  preparing  vegetables  for 
Moya,  chattering  about  their  babies  and  explaining 
their  meaning  by  gestures  that  seemed  to  be  per- 
fectly understood. 

The  women  had  daily  duties  to  perform  accord- 
ing to  a schedule  worked  out  by  Mrs.  Schuler,  who 
apportioned  to  each  a share  of  the  general  work  of 
the  house  in  addition  to  the  care  of  her  own  room 
and  the  washing  for  herself  and  her  children.  With 
so  many  fingers  flying  the  tasks  were  soon  done,  and 
then  they  sat  on  the  porch  or  in  the  grove  among 
the  sweet-smelling  pines,  or  walked  in  the  pasture 


FURNITURE  MAKING 


93 


or  up  and  down  the  lane  leading  to  the  mRirt  road. 
Once  in  a while  they  went  to  Rosemont,  but  for  the 
most  part  they  were  too  languid  to  care  to  walk  far 
and  too  glad  of  the  change  and  the  rest  and  quiet 
to  want  to  weary  themselves  unnecessarily. 

“ They  may  need  more  amusement  when  the  nov- 
elty wears  off  and  when  they  feel  stronger,”  said 
Mrs.  Schuler  to  Ethel  Brown  who  inquired  as  to 
their  contentment,  “ but  for  the  present  they  seem 
quite  happy.” 

To  the  Swedish  woman,  who  had  come  from 
Stockholm,  and  the  Russian  whose  home  had  been 
in  Petrograd,  the  country  was  something  quite  new, 
and  they  never  tired  of  asking  questions  about  the 
animals  and  the  various  farming  processes  which 
they  saw  going  on  on  Mr.  Emerson’s  place  adjoin- 
ing. 

One  day  Mr.  Schuler,  smoking  a peaceful  pipe  in 
his  wheeled  chair  beside  the  house,  heard  wild 
shrieks  of  women  in  distress.  He  called  to  his 
wife,  to  Moya,  to  each  of  the  inmates  by  name. 
There  was  no  response,  but  the  howls  of  fear  con- 
tinued unabated.  With  great  difficulty  he  wheeled 
his  chair  to  the  porch  where  his  crutches  had  been 
laid  and  hobbled  around  the  corner  toward  the  back 
whence  the  screams  seemed  to  come. 

Toward  the  house  on  the  run  came  Mrs.  Peter- 
son and  Mrs.  Vereshchagin,  showing  no  signs  of 
lassitude  as  they  sprinted  for  the  protection  of  the 
dwelling,  followed  by  a cow  who  was  travelling  at  a 
swinging  trot.  Behind  the  cow  came  Mrs.  Paterno 
and  Mrs.  Tsanoff,  making  Italian  and  Bulgarian 
sounds  intended  to  coax  the  animal  to  stop._ 

Instead  of  stopping,  Madam  Cow  did  not  even 


94  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


hesitate.  On,  on  she  came,  apparently  not  angry  or 
even  frightened,  but  in  dead  earnest  about  seeking 
some  spot  where  she  need  not  be  annoyed  by  in- 
truders. The  fences  on  each  side  of  the  lane  kept 
her  in  the  narrow  path  at  least  until  she  should  reach 
the  open  space  behind  the  house,  and  they  served  the 
same  unfriendly  purpose  for  the  women  in  advance. 
It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  the  pursued  to  flatten 
themselves  against  the  fence  and  let  the  cow  pass,  or, 
if  they  did  think  of  it,  they  did  not  feel  any  confi- 
dence that  she  would  go  on  by  them. 

Mr.  Schuler,  balancing  himself  uncertainly  on  his 
crutches,  signed  to  them  to  press  to  one  side,  but  they 
were  too  frightened  to  pay  any  attention  to  him  and 
dashed  on.  They  brushed  against  him,  one  on  the 
right  and  one  on  the  left,  on  their  way  through  the 
back  yard,  almost  knocking  him  from  his  feet.  The 
cow,  reaching  the  yard,  stopped  with  entire  ami- 
ability, and  stood  gazing  tranquilly  at  the  flying 
skirts  of  her  retreating  foes,  gently  swinging  the 
tassel  of  her  tail  as  she  meditated  on  the  strange- 
ness of  their  behavior — for  had  it  not  been  she  her- 
self who  was  pursued?  Even  as  she  thought  it  her 
pursuers  entered  the  yard  and  she  swung  around  to 
make  sure  that  their  intentions  were  peaceful. 

Panting  and  laughing  Mrs.  Paterno  and  Mrs. 
Tsanoff  stammered  out  their  explanation  to  Mr. 
Schuler.  They  had  been  country  girls,  they  said, 
and  the  sight  of  the  cow  in  the  pasture  aroused  old 
memories.  Approaching  her  they  tried  to  milk  her, 
one  on  one  side  and  the  other  on  the  other. 
Whether  their  hands  had  lost  their  cunning,  or 
whether  the  cow  resented  the  attentions  of  two  milk- 
maids at  a time  or  whether  the  directions  they  gave 


FURNITURE  MAKING 


95 


her  and  the  soothing  remarks  they  offered  in  Italian 
and  Bulgarian  sounded  threatening  to  her  American 
ears,  who  can  tell?  The  result  was  that  she  wTalked 
briskly  away  from  them,  sufficiently  annoyed  to  want 
to  put  some  distance  between  them  and  her.  In 
leaving  them  she  approached  the  other  two  women 
who  were  terrified  at  her  coming  and  fled  before  her 
down  the  lane  uttering  the  screams  that  had  roused 
Mr.  Schuler  from  his  peaceful  pipe. 

The  pursuing  women  went  into  the  house  to  com- 
fort the  pursued,  and  Mr.  Schuler  returned  to  his 
shady  corner  just  as  Roger  and  James  and  the  Ethels 
arrived  to  do  their  daily  task  of  furniture  making 
and  upholstery.  When  they  heard  the  tale  of  the 
international  complication  with  the  cow  they  all  went 
to  the  back  yard  to  soothe  the  feelings  of  the  dis- 
turbed bovine,  but  when  she  saw  them  coming  she 
moved  away,  evidently  taking  no  chances  of  further 
interruption  of  her  repose. 

The  boys  had  built  a platform  across  the  back  of 
the  house,  and  it  was  here  that  they  did  their  car- 
pentry, an  awning  sheltering  them  from  the  sun  or 
rain.  A cupboard  at  one  end  held  their  tools,  and 
their  partly  finished  articles  were  neatly  stacked  in 
a corner.  As  they  got  out  their  tools  now  James 
made  a confession. 

“ To  tell  you  the  honest,  unvarnished  truth,  I’m 
tired  of  making  chairs.  It  seems  as  if  we’d  never 
have  enough.” 

“ It  takes  an  awful  lot  to  furnish  a house,”  com- 
mented Roger  wisely,  “ and  you  know  we  had  very 
few  given  us  so  if  we  want  enough  we  have  to  make 
them.” 

“ Don’t  I know  it!  And  haven’t  I been  up  in  our 


9 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

attic  a dozen  times  to  see  if  I’d  overlooked  some  old 
stager  that  I could  mend  up  and  bring  here.” 

“ Me,  too,”  confessed  Roger.  “ Poor  luck, 
though.  I’m  spoiling  to  make  something  different; 
I want  to  try  a window  seat  that  I saw  in  a magazine 
the  other  day — it  had  stands  at  each  end  for  flowers 
with  shelves  underneath  for  books.  It  looked  like 
a dandy  and  not  very  hard.” 

“ Seats  for  the  ladies  first,”  said  James  firmly. 
“ I really  believe  that  four  more  chairs  for  grown-ups 
and  three  more  high  chairs  are  going  to  be  enough, 
so  let’s  get  busy.” 

“ We’ve  got  all  the  chairs  you’ve  done  uphol- 
stered all  they’re  going  to  be,”  said  Ethel  Brown. 
“ Why  can’t  Ethel  Blue  and  I each  make  a high 
chair?  ” 

“No  reason  at  all,”  agreed  Roger  quickly. 
‘ You’ve  watched  James  and  me  and  seen  our  really 
superior  workmanship;  imitate  it,  my  child!  ” 

The  girls  were  already  turning  over  the  boys’ 
supply  of  boxes  to  select  those  suitable  for  the  chairs 
for  the  children.  They  took  four  that  had  held 
lemons  or  other  fruit  and  were  tall  and  narrow  when 
stood  on  end.  The  boards  they  were  made  of  were 
very  light  but  quite  solid  enough  to  hold  the  weight 
of  a small  child.  To  make  it  firm  upon  the  ground, 
however,  they  sawed  a piece  of  heavy  plank  a little 
larger  than  the  end  upon  which  the  box  was  to 
stand  and  nailed  it  on  from  the  inside. 

“ This  one  seems  more  wobbly  than  the  others 
the  boys  made,”  admitted  Ethel  Brown. 

“ You’ve  taken  a box  that  we  discarded,”  con- 
fessed James.  “ You’d  better  nail  a heavy  block 
of  wood  on  the  inside.  It  won’t  show  when  you 


FURNITURE  MAKING  97 


put  the  cover  on  and  it  will  prevent  its  being  top- 
heavy.” 


This  piece  of  advice  they  followed  and  made  the 
lower  part  of  the  chair  quite  unshakable. 

“ Now  for  the  top,”  announced  Ethel  Brown. 
“ Will  this  other  lemon  box  make  three  tops, 
Roger?” 


54 


9»  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Cut  it  into  three  parts.  1 hat  gives  you  the 
back  and  arms  for  all  the  three  that  you’re  going  to 
make.” 

“ They’ll  have  to  be  reinforced  where  they  join.” 
“ Certainly  they  will.  Did  you  make  quite  sure 
that  your  lower  box  is  strong  at  all  its  corners!  ” 
They  had  not  but  they  went  over  it  carefully  now 
and  nailed  on  a cleat  or  two  where  the  joinings 
seemed  insecure.  The  new  top  part  they  protected 
by  strips  across  the  rough  sawed  edges  and  down 
the  fronts.  The  latter  they  made  long  enough  to 
lap  over  the  bottom  box  down  to  the  ground  so  that 
they  could  be  used  as  a means  of  screwing  the  upper 
and  lower  parts  together. 

Additional  screws  united  the  two  parts  firmly 
and  the  high  chair  was  done.  The  boys  compli- 
mented their  co-workers  on  the-  success  of  their  first 
experiment. 

“ I hardly  could  have  done  it  better  myself,”  said 
Roger  grandly.  “ I do  wish,  though,”  he  added, 
“ we  could  have  found  boxes  of  this  shape  that  were 
made  of  a little  heavier  stock.  They’d  be  firmer.” 
“We  could  have  knocked  some  of  those  big  boxes 
apart  and  built  the  whole  thing,  I suppose,”  said 
Ethel  Blue,  “ but  it  would  have  taken  a great  deal 
longer.” 

“ It  would  have  meant  a lot  more  measuring  and 
sawing  and  nailing.  These  will  last  out  this  sum- 
mer, anyway,  unless  some  of  these  children  grow 
into  baby  Jumbos  and  break  them  down.” 

“ I think  they’re  strong  enough.  Why,  I’d  trust 
even  fat  little  Ayleesabet  in  this,”  and  Ethel  Brown 
gave  her  new  production  a vigorous  shake. 

All  the  high  chairs  were  covered  with  blue  and 


FURNITURE  MAKING 


99 


white  cretonne  to  match  the  blue  and  white  of  the 
dining  room  and  the  girls  set  to  work  to  tack  on  the 
outside  covering  and  to  cut  out  the  covers  of  the 
small  cushions  that  were  to  make  the  seat  and  back 
comfortable.  The  cushions  themselves  they  had 
made  from  ticking  filled  with  excelsior  when  they  had 
calculated  the  number  of  high  chairs  they  must  have. 

The  boys,  meanwhile  were  constructing  two  chairs 
of  quite  different  build.  One  was  a heavy  chair  for 
the  hall  or  the  veranda,  its  original  condition  being 
a packing  box  a foot  and  a half  deep,  about  twenty 
inches  wide  and  three  or  four  feet  long.  This  also 
was  set  on  end,  and  the  other  end  and  the  cover  were 
laid  aside  to  be  used  in  making  the  seat  and  in  shut- 
ting in  the  openings  below  the  seat. 

“ How  are  you  going  to  fasten  that  seat  so  it 
won’t  let  the  sitter  down  on  the  floor?”  inquired 
Ethel  Blue,  as  James  explained  what  he  was  going  to 
do. 

“ Do  you  see  these  cleats,  ma’am?  These  are 
each  a foot  long.  I nail  one  of  these  standing  up 
straight  at  each  edge  of  the  sides  and  the  back — six 
of  them  altogether.  Then  I lay  three  other  cleats 
across  their  tops — thusly.” 

“ O,  you’ve  made  a sort  of  framework  that  will 
support  the  seat!  I get  that!  ” exclaimed  Ethel 
Blue. 

“ All  you  have  to  do  now  is  to  nail  your  seat 
boards  on  to  those  horizontal  cleats  and  it’s  as  firm 
as  firm  can  be.” 

“If  you’re  going  to  use  that  for  a porch  chair  you 
needn’t  cover  over  that  hole  underneath  the  seat; 
just  put  a cretonne  pleated  curtain  over  it — the  same 
stuff  as  your  upholstery,  you  know — and  then  the 


ioo  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


porch  magazines  and  books  and  even  sewing  or  knit- 
ting could  be  left  in  it.” 

“ That’s  not  such  a bad  idea,”  agreed  James,  his 
head  on  one  side.  “ I believe  I’ll  do  that.  You  see, 
I nailed  these  cleats  a little  way  back  from  the  edge 
so  that  when  I put  on  the  boards  to  cover  this  gaping 


hole  the  thickness  of  the  boards  wouldn’t  stick  out 
beyond  the  front  edge  of  the  chair.” 

“ "Tat  won’t  interfere  with  this  new  idea.” 

“ Not  a bit.  And  if  the  chair  is  to  be  brought 
into  the  house  for  winter  use  the  boards  can  be  put 
on.  I’ll  fix  it  that  way  if  you’ve  got  enough  chintz 
to  make  the  front  piece.” 

“ We  were  going  to  pleat  it  across  the  front  any- 
way, so  it  won’t  take  a bit  extra.” 

“ Aren’t  you  going  to  do  something  with  those 


FURNITURE  MAKING 


IOI 


sides — those  arms,  or  whatever  you  call  them?  ” in- 
quired Ethel  Brown.  “ They  seem  sharp  and  un- 
comfortable and  in  the  way  to  me.” 

Both  boys  studied  the  chair  seriously  before  an- 
swering. Then  they  took  a pencil  and  paper  and 
consulted. 


“ I should  think  it  would  look  pretty  well  to  cut 
out  a right  angle  on  each  side,”  suggested  James. 
“ That  would  leave  a sort  of  wing  effect  like  a hall 
porter’s  chair,  only  not  so  high,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  would  make  an  arm  to  rest  your  elbow  on.  How 
does  that  strike  you?  ” 

Roger  nodded.  “ It  hits  me  all  right.  I was 
thinking  of  a curve  instead  of  a right  angle,  but  the 
right  angle  will  be  easier  to  make.  Go  ahead.” 


io2  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


So  the  right  angle  was  decided  on  and  James  pro- 
ceeded to  ait  it. 

Roger,  meanwhile,  had  been  sorting  out  the  wood 
he  needed  for  a chair  of  another  pattern. 

“ I wish  Dorothy  would  heave  in  sight,”  he 


growled  as  he  piled  some  half  inch  thick  strips  in 
one  heap.  “ She  told  me  she’d  tell  me  all  she  knew 
about  chair  legs  when  I reached  this  stage  of  pro- 
ceedings.” 

“ She  will,”  answered  a cheerful  voice,  and  gray- 
eyed Dorothy  appeared  from  the  house.  “ I felt  in 


FURNITURE  MAKING 


103 


my  bones  that  you’d  be  beginning  this  lot  this  after- 
noon, so  I ambled  over  to  see  if  I could  help  in  any 
way.” 

“ Keep  right  on  ambling  till  you  reach  this  end  of 
the  platform  and  tell  me  whether  you  said  that  chair 
legs  could  be  made  of  this  stripping  or  whether  I’ll 
have  to  get  solid  pieces,  square-ended,  you  know, 
joist  or  scantling  or  whatever  it’s  called.” 

“ Strips  will  do,  only  you’ll  have  to  use  two  for 
each  leg.  Nail  them  together  at  right  angles.  It 
will  make  a two-sided  leg,  but  it  will  be  plenty  strong 
enough,  though  perhaps  not  truly  handsome.” 

“ If  handsomeness  means  solidity — no.  Still, 
they’ll  do.  Can  you  give  me  the  lengths  for  these 
strips?  ” and  Roger  waved  his  saw  at  his  cousin  as  if 
he  were  so  impatient  to  begin  that  he  could  not  wait 
to  study  out  the  lengths  for  himself. 

“ For  the  one  I made  for  the  attic,”  replied  his 
cousin,  “ I cut  four  strips  each  two  inches  wide  and 
twenty-one  inches  long  for  the  front  legs  and  four 
strips  each  two  inches  wide  and  twenty-five  inches 
long  for  the  back  legs.  Then  there  were  two  two- 
inch  strips  seventeen  inches  long  to  go  under  the  seat 
to  strengthen  it  front  and  back,  and  two  two-inch 
strips  each  thirteen  inches  long  to  go  under  the  seat 
and  strengthen  it  on  the  sides.  That’s  all  the  stock 
you  need  except  the  box.” 

“ I suppose  you’ve  got  a particular  box  in  mind  to 
fit  those  sizes.” 

“Those  sizes  fit  the  box,  rather.  Yes,  I got  a gro- 
cery box  that  was  about  eighteen  inches  long  and 
thirteen  wide  and  eleven  deep.  I saw  one  here  just 
like  it  before  I gave  you  those  measurements,  so  you 
can  go  ahead  sawing  while  I pull  off  one  side  of  the 


io4  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


box — the  cover  has  gone  already  but  we  don’t  need 
it.” 

Quiet  reigned  for  a few  minutes  while  they  all 
worked  briskly. 

“ Now  I’m  ready  to  put  this  superb  article  to- 
gether,” announced  Roger.  “ How  high  from  the 
ground  does  the  seat  go  ? ” 

“ Nail  your  cleats  across  with  their  top  edges  fif- 
teen inches  from  the  ground  and  nail  the  bottom  of 
the  box  on  to  the  cleats.  See  how  these  two-sided 
legs  protect  the  edges  of  the  box  as  well  as  make  it 
decent  looking?  ” 

“ So  they  do,”  admitted  Roger.  “ They  aren’t  so 
bad  after  all.” 

“ I think  those  sides  are  going  to  be  too  high,”  de- 
cided Dorothy  after  examining  the  chair  carefully 
and  sitting  down  in  it.  “ Don’t  you  think  it  pushes 
your  elbows  up  too  high?  ” 

Roger  tried  it  and  thought  it  did. 

“ Suppose  you  saw  those  sides  down  about  five 
inches.” 

Roger  obeyed  and  Dorothy  tried  the  chair  again 
and  pronounced  it  much  improved. 

“ It’s  comfy  enough  now,  but  these  arms  don’t  look 
very  well,  and  they’d  be  liable  to  tear  your  sleeves,” 
she  said.  “ Let’s  put  on  some  strip  covers.  They’ll 
give  a finish  to  the  whole  thing,  and  hide  the  end  of 
the  two-sided  legs  and  be  smooth.” 

“ Plenty  of  reason  for  having  them.  How  many 
inches?  ” 

“ Twelve,”  answered  Dorothy  after  measuring. 

“ The  top  of  the  back  needs  a strip  cover,  too.  Cut 
another  nineteen  inches  long.  There,  / think  that’s  < 
not  such  a bad  looking  chair ! ” 


FURNITURE  MAKING 


105 


“How  did  you  learn  all  this,  Dorothy?”  asked 
James.  “ This  chair  is  more  elaborate  than  the 
furniture  you  made  for  your  attic,  and  I thought  that 
was  pretty  good.” 

“ Once  when  Mother  and  I were  in  Chicago  I went 
to  a settlement  there  where  a clever  woman  was 
teaching  some  boys  how  to  make  useful  things  out  of 
boxes,  whole  ones  and  pulled  apart  ones.  Since 
we’ve  been  in  Rosemont  Mother  took  me  in  to  New 
York  one  day  to  see  an  apartment  that  this  same  lady 
has  furnished  entirely  with  what  she  calls  ‘ box  furni- 
ture.’ She’s  written  a book  about  it — Mother  gave 
it  to  me  at  Christmas — so  I got  some  ideas  out  of 
that  and  some  I made  up  myself.” 

“ I take  off  my  hat  to  you,”  remarked  Roger. 
“ You  have  ideas  of  your  own  and  you  know  how  to 
make  use  of  other  people’s.” 

Dorothy  blushed. 

“ O,  that’s  nothing,”  she  said.  “ Ideas  keep 
growing  if  you  think  hard  enough.” 

“Do  you  want  cushions  for  those  chairs?”  in- 
quired Ethel  Brown,  appearing  at  the  door  with  a 
piece  of  cretonne  in  her  hand.  “ We’ve  got  ma- 
terial enough  for  at  least  seat  cushions  for  both  of 
them.” 

“ They’ll  be  lots  more  comfy,”  admitted  James, 
“ if  the  excelsior  crop  is  still  holding  out.” 

“ It  is.  I’ll  make  them  right  off,  and  Ethel  Blue 
can  help  you  out  there.” 

She  retired  from  view  and  sent  out  her  cousin,  and 
until  the  sun  set  the  two  boys  and  Dorothy  and  Ethel 
measured  and  sawed  and  nailed,  with  results  that 
satisfied  them  so  well  that  they  did  not  mind  being 
tired. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD 


HE  hemming  of  bed  and  table  linen,  the  stencil- 


ling of  curtains,  the  upholstering  of  old  furni- 
ture and  the  making  of  new  had  occupied  so  much 
time  that  it  was  well  on  in  July  before  the  U.  S.  C. 
found  an  opportunity  to  frame  in  passepartout  the 
collection  of  madonnas  that  had  been  given  them  by 
a Rosemont  lady.  They  found  themselves  gathered 
one  afternoon  in  the  dining  room  of  Rose  House, 
their  materials  spread  before  them  on  the  bare  table, 
and  a promise  of  lemonade  encouraging  them  to 
finish  their  task  promptly. 

Mrs.  Schuler  had  taken  all  the  women  and  children 
into  the  pasture  to  pick  blackberries,  and  the  veranda 
was  deserted  except  for  Mr.  Emerson  who  had 
strolled  over  to  see  how  matters  in  general  were  pro- 
gressing and  what  the  club  was  doing.  Miss  Mer- 
riam  had  brought  Elisabeth,  but  Mrs.  Schuler  had 
begged  to  borrow  her  for  the  afternoon  and  she  had 
gone  berrying  with  the  rest. 

“ I wish  we  could  have  had  these  on  the  walls, 
from  the  very  beginning,”  sighed  Elelen,  turning 
over  the  sheets. 

“ I don’t  think  it  has  made  much  difference,”  con- 
soled Margaret.  “ They’ve  had  a lot  of  magazines 
and  picture  books  that  people  have  sent  in,  and 
they’ve  found  the  house  as  good  fun  as  a picture,  and 
these  we’re  doing  now  will  come  as  a novelty.” 


106 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD  107 

“ Perhaps  you’re  right.  Some  of  these  slimsy 
ones  we’ll  have  to  mount.” 

“ Let  James  do  that ; he’s  the  really  skilful  paster.” 
James  made  a wry  face  but  reached  over  for  the 
pictures  whose  frailty  made  it  wise  to  give  them  a 
firm  backing.  He  found  their  centres  by  laying  a 


ruler  from  one  comer  to  the  diagonal  corner  of  the 
back  and  lightly  drawing  a line  connecting  them. 
He  did  the  same  with  the  other  two  diagonal  cor- 
ners. The  point  where  they  crossed  was  the  centre 
of  the  picture. 

Then  he  did  the  same  on  the  face  of  the  piece  of 
cardboard  which  was  to  serve  as  a mount,  except  that 
he  drew  the  lines  only  for  a short  distance  in  the 
middle  of  the  card,  where  he  knew  that  they  would 


io8  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


be  sure  to  be  covered  by  the  picture.  Covering  the 
back  of  the  picture  with  a smooth  coat  of  paste  he 
laid  the  exact  centre  of  the  picture  on  the  exact 
centre  of  the  backing  and  pressed  them  together, 
using  a clean  bit  of  white  cloth — it  happened  to  be 
his  handkerchief — to  smooth  one  upon  the  other. 
The  final  move  was  to  lay  the  now  mounted  picture 
under  a heavy  pile  of  magazines  to  stay  until  the 
paste  was  quite  dry,  so  the  finished  surface  would  be 
uniform. 

Fortunately  for  the  amount  to  be  accomplished 
during  the  afternoon  it  was  not  necessary  to  mount 
many  of  the  pictures  for  most  of  them  were  firm 
enough.  Helen  had  trimmed  them  all  so  that  they 
were  of  two  sizes  and  she  had  bought  glass  for  them 
of  two  “ stock  sizes  ” so  that  it  did  not  have  to  be  cut 
and  thus  incur  extra  expense.  They  had  supposed 
that  they  would  have  to  send  to  New  York  for  the 
paper  to  bind  the  edges,  but  Ethel  Brown,  hunting 
through  the  counter  boxes  of  the  English  stationer 
whom  all  Rosemont  people  visited  for  stationery, 
newspapers,  soda  and  ice-cream  cones,  discovered 
rolls  of  passepartout  binding  and  brought  it  home 
in  triumph.  Ethel  Blue  and  Dorothy  had  cut  the 
pasteboard  backs  for  all  the  pictures,  so  that  the  work 
of  the  afternoon  was  merely  the  putting  of  them  to- 
gether. 

“That  takes  a steady  hand,”  commented  Grand- 
father Emerson,  who  had  wandered  in  from  the 
porch  and  stood  looking  over  the  shoulders  of  the 
toilers. 

“ Della’s  the  only  one  who  gets  nervous  and 
shakes,”  remarked  Della’s  brother. 

This  witticism  was  received  with  joy  by  its  hearers, 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD 


109 

for  Della  was  placid  and  rosy  and  roly-poly  and 
didn’t  know  the  meaning  of  nervousness. 

“ Lay  the  cardboard  on  the  table  and  the  picture 
on  the  cardboard  and  the  glass  on  the  picture — that’s 
the  beginning,  I see,”  Mr.  Emerson  went  on.  “ The 
hard  part  comes  when  you  bind  the  whole  thing  to- 
gether. You  have  to  press  hard — so — and  evenly 
— so — and  pull  it  tightly  enough  to  make  it  smooth 
and  not  so  tightly  that  it  tears.  Then  you  press 
them  all  just  as  James  pressed  his  mounted  pictures. 
How  are  you  going  to  hang  them?  ” 

“ Roger  has  a few  of  the  patches  with  attached 
rings  left  over  from  the  ‘ Handy  Boxes  ’ he  made  for 
Christmas.  When  they  are  used  up  we’ll  slip  a 
small  brass  ring  on  to  a bit  of  narrow  tape  and  paste 
the  ends  of  the  tape  onto  the  back  of  the  paste- 
board.” 

“ The  picture  wire  or  cord  runs  from  one  to  an- 
other— I see.  They  don’t  look  very  tidy,  though.” 
“You’re  very  critical,  Grandfather!  Just  to 
please  you  I’ll  paste  a square  of  paper  over  the  ends 
of  the  tape.  There — do  you  like  that  better?  ” 

“ Much.  I like  to  see  things  well  finished.” 

“ Me,  too.  I must  inherit  the  liking  from  you. 
But  I don’t  always  do  it  when  I’m  in  a hurry.” 

“ What  a charming  old  room  this  is,”  said  Miss 
Merriam,  looking  up  from  the  task  beneath  her  fin- 
gers. “ The  low  ceiling  and  the  beams  and  the  wide 
fireplace  and  the  cupboards  at  the  side  of  the  mantel- 
shelf— it  doesn’t  take  any  imagination  at  all  to  peo- 
ple the  room  with  the  brave  old  colonists  and  their 
wives  and  daughters.” 

“ There’s  a story  about  those  mantel  cupboards 
you  spoke  of,”  returned  Mr.  Emerson.  “ It’s  all 


no  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


written  down  in  the  big  family  Bible.  I’ll  show  it  to 
you  some  time.” 

“ Can’t  you  tell  us  the  story  while  we  work?” 
asked  Dorothy. 

“ Why,  yes,  I dare  say  I can  remember  it.  If  I 
forget  any  part  I don’t  doubt  these  grandchildren  of 
mine  can  supply  it — they’ve  heard  me  tell  the  tale 
often  enough.” 

“Which  one  is  it?”  asked  Roger.  “About  the 
Indian  prisoner?  ” 

“ No,  the  Revolutionary  lover.” 

Roger  remembering,  nodded  without  looking  up 
from  his  work. 

“ It  was  Roger’s  great-great-great-grandfather 
who  lived  in  this  house  at  the  time  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. He  had  numerous  sons  and  daughters,  accord- 
ing to  the  list  in  the  Bible.” 

“Those  old  chaps  had  enormous  families;  they, 
must  have  filled  this  room  up  solid.” 

“ The  other  half  of  the  house  had  been  built  on  by 
that  time.  The  youngest  daughter  was  the  heroine 
of  the  tale.” 

“ I wonder  what  she  looked  like,”  mused  Helen, 
her  head  on  one  side  as  she  regarded  her  growing 
pile  of  passepartouts. 

“ Her  fond  parent  didn’t  describe  her.  He  says, 
however,  that  she  was  ‘ sixteen  years  of  age  and  well 
built  and  strong.’  ” 

“ That  sounds  very  modern.  I thought  girls  of 
that  day  were  of  the  languishing  kind  that  fainted 
away  if  a strong  wind  blew.” 

“ That  was  seventy-five  years  later.  The  Revolu- 
tionary girls  had  too  much  to  do  to  be  lackadaisical. 
This  great-great-grandaunt  was  an  attractive  girl, 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD 


in 


whatever  she  was  like,  for  when  a young  British  of- 
ficer came  to  the  house  one  night  with  a troop  of  his 
men  and  demanded  shelter  he  fell  in  love  at  first 
sight  with  the  fair  one.” 

“ How  perfectly  thrilling,”  exclaimed  Della. 
“ Did  she  fall  in  love  with  him?  ” 

“ Apparently  she  had  a weakness  for  him,  though 
it  wouldn’t  do  to  admit  it  before  her  strongly  loyal 
father  and  brothers.” 

“ It’s  just  like  some  of  the  stories  of  the  maidens 
and  their  lovers  in  the  days  of  King  Charles  and 
Oliver  Cromwell,”  smiled  Helen,  who  was  fond  of 
fiction  with  a background  of  history. 

“ What  was  his  name?  ” asked  Margaret. 

“ A very  high-flown  name,  Algernon — Algernon 
Merriam.” 

“‘Algernon  Merriam?’”  repeated  Miss  Mer- 
riam. “ Isn’t  that  strange — that  was  my  great- 
great-grandfather’s  name.” 

“ It  was?  ” everybody  cried. 

“Where  did  he  live?” 

“When  did  he  live?” 

“ Was  he  a Tory?” 

“ Tell  us  about  him?  ” 

Miss  Gertrude  put  her  hands  over  her  ears. 

“ I don’t  know  very  much  about  him,  except  that 
he  lived  in  New  York,  but  I’ve  always  been  espe- 
cially interested  in  him  because  he  was  the  first  one 
of  the  family  to  come  to  America  and  because  I am 
named  after  his  mother — Gertrude.” 

“ ‘ Gertrude  Merriam,’  ” repeated  Mr.  Emerson 
musingly.  “What  else  do  you  know  about  him?” 
“ Only  that  he  was  a British  officer  who  came  over 
here  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  and  married  an 


1 12  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


American,  a country  girl,  and  stayed  in  America  after 
the  war  was  over.” 

“ Do  you  know  his  wife’s  name  ? ” 

“ Not  her  last  name  — the  first  was  Patience.  I 
have  their  wedding  ring  with  their  initials  on  it.” 

She  pulled  a slender  chain  from  the  neck  of  her 
dress.  Hung  from  it  was  a worn  gold  ring  which 
still  showed  the  engraving  “ A.  M.  to  P.  E.” 

“ I used  to  wear  it  on  my  finger,”  explained  Miss 
Gertrude,  “ but  it  was  getting  so  thin  and  the  letter- 
ing was  becoming  so  rubbed  that  I thought  I’d  better 
keep  it  where  it  wouldn’t  be  injured.” 

“ You  haven’t  the  slightest  idea  what  the  wife’s 
last  name  was?  ” 

“ Only  that  it  began  with  E,  because  the  ring  says 
so.  I know  her  first  name  because  I have  her 
Prayer-Book.  On  the  fly-leaf  is  written  1 Patience, 
from  her  loving  husband,  Algernon  Merriam  ’ and 
the  date,  ‘ 1785,’  and  on  another  blank  page  is  * Al- 
gernon Merriam,  from  his  mother,  Gertrude  Mer- 
riam, 1775.’  ” 

“ His  mother  gave  him  the  book  when  he  came  to 
America,  probably,  and  he  gave  it  to  his  wife  when 
they  were  married,”  guessed  Ethel  Blue. 

“ I don’t  know  the  date  of  their  marriage.” 

“ I believe  I can  help  you  to  that,”  interposed  Mr 
Emerson.  “ Roger,  run  to  the  house  and  ask  your 
grandmother  to  let  you  have  the  big  Bible  — the  old 
one  with  the  record.” 

“ Yes,  sir ,”  responded  Roger,  starting  off  with  a 
speed  encouraged  by  his  curiosity. 

“ Pm  inclined  to  think  that  you’ve  landed  here  in 
Rosemont  among  your  distant  relatives,”  said  Mr. 
Emerson. 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD 


113 

“ You  think  that  ‘ Patience  ’ was  your  great- 
aunt?  ” 

“ When  you  hear  the  story  that  our  Revolutionary 
ancestor  set  down  in  the  Bible  you’ll  see  that  it 
matches  yours  so  well  that  it  must  apply  to  the  same 
people.” 

Roger  came  back  panting  with  the  big  book  under 
his  arm.  Mr.  Emerson  opened  it  and  speedily  found 
the  place. 

“ Here  it  is,”  he  said.  “ This  is  John  Emerson 
writing.  He  tells  the  names  of  all  his  children. 
Then  he  says,  ‘ My  youngest  daughter,  called  Pa- 
tience, had  reason  to  exercise  that  virtue.  In  1776, 
just  before  the  battle  of  Trenton,  a young  British  of- 
ficer, Algernon  Merriam  by  name,  leading  a small 
band  of  soldiers  to  join  the  British  forces,  stopped 
at  our  house  and  fell  in  love  instantly  with  my  daugh- 
ter, who  waited  upon  him  at  table,  myself  and  my 
sons  not  being  numerous  enough  to  forbid  him  and 
his  men  entrance  to  the  house,  enemies  though  they 
were.  They  went  on  their  road  the  next  day,  but 
only  after  the  officer  had  made  so  clear  his  admira- 
tion for  my  daughter  that  her  brothers  were  sore  dis- 
pleased and  spake  harshly  to  her  after  his  depart- 
ure, saying  that  it  was  unseemly  she  should  attract 
the  notice  of  a man  on  his  way  at  the  moment  to 
slay,  perhaps,  her  own  neighbors,  perchance  her 
very  brothers.” 

“ Poor  little  Patience,”  murmured  Miss  Gertrude. 

“ ‘ After  the  defeat  of  the  British  at  Trenton,  and 
again  but  eight  days  later  at  Princeton,  the  young 
man  appeared  once  more  and  demanded  shelter,  and 
again  he  had  men  enough  with  him  so  that  it  was  not 
prudent  to  refuse  — for  although  the  Americans  had 


1 14  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


won  victory  in  two  battles,  yet  were  we  unprotected 
in  the  house,  my  sons  being  all  with  the  American 
army,  and  I in  bed  with  a wound  in  the  leg  given  me 
by  a red-backed  rascal  in  a skirmish  just  before 
Trenton.’  ” 

“ ‘ Red-backed  rascal  ’ is  good,”  grinned  Roger. 
“ I’m  sorry  to  think  you’re  descended  from  a Tory, 
the  companion  of  ‘ red-backed  rascals  ’ Miss  Ger- 
trude.” 

“ But  I’m  also  descended  from  a sturdy  loyalist,  if 
Patience’s  father  was  my  great-great-great-grand- 
father, as  well  as  yours.” 

“Bull’s  eye!” 

“ ‘ Again  he  spoke  fair  to  my  daughter  Patience,’  ” 
Mr.  Emerson  read  on,  “ ‘ though  she  was  cold  to 
him,  remembering  what  her  brothers  had  said  and 
also  feeling  not  warmly  to  one  who  had  but  yesterday 
met  in  fight  her  dearest  friends.  Yet  ever  and  again 
he  re-appeared  at  our  house,  sometimes  with  soldiers, 
later  alone,  though  he  ran  the  risk  of  capture  by  us. 
Yet  that  we  could  not  do,  for  although  he  was  our 
enemy  we  came  to  like  him  well,  and  wished  only  that 
he  might  see  his  error  and  join  the  Continentals. 
Yet  would  Patience  hear  none  of  this,  for,  said  she, 
“ a soldier  may  not  desert  his  leader  in  time  of  dan- 
ger, whatever  he  may  do  when  war  is  over.”  ’ ” 

“ Even  the  fierce  brothers  had  to  agree  to  that,” 
said  Tom  with  a nod. 

“ ‘ Almost  we  fell  under  suspicion  by  our  neigh- 
bors because  of  the  friendliness  we  felt  for  this 
enemy.  Yet  we  thought  they  understood,  until  a 
later  time  when  we  felt  not  sure.  But  that  was  long 
after  Algernon  and  Patience  came  to  an  agreement 
that  they  would  marry  when  the  war  was  ended.’  ” 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD  115 

“ Oho ! They  were  really  engaged  during  the 
war ! ” exclaimed  Ethel  Brown. 

“ ‘ I think  it  was  not  the  red  of  an  officer’s  coat 
that  drew  the  attention  of  my  daughter,’  ” Mr.  Em- 
erson continued. 

“ He  wants  to  square  her  with  succeeding  genera- 
tions,” remarked  Roger  frivolously. 

“ ‘ He  was  a young  man  of  excellent  character, 
only  for  the  fact  that  he  was  British.  Also  his 
mother  had  died  of  a sudden  but  a day  or  two  before 
he  sailed  to  America  and  he  mourned  her  loss  so  bit- 
terly that  he  won  the  sympathy  of  my  gentle  Pa- 
tience.’ ” 

“ Does  he  mention  what  this  Algernon’s  mother’s 
name  was?  ” asked  Miss  Merriam  eagerly.  All  the 
others  stopped  working  and  leaned  forward  to  hear 
the  answer. 

“ We’ll  see.  ‘ Often  he  showed  us  a Prayer  Book 
that  his  mother  had  given  him  to  take  to 
America,  bearing  in  it  his  name  “ Algernon  Mer- 
riam, from  his  mother,  Gertrude  Merriam,  1775.”  ’ 
There  you  are ! ” 

“ It’s  the  very  same  one ! ” screamed  Ethel  Brown, 
rising  and  fairly  prancing  with  excitement,  while 
Dicky  threw  his  arms  around  Miss  Merriam  and 
kissed  her  and  Helen  pressed  her  hand. 

“ If  there’s  anything  that  I can  do  with  perfect 
propriety,  I’d  be  glad  of  the  chance  to  welcome  you 
demonstratively  into  the  family,”  said  Roger  sol- 
emnly. 

Everybody  laughed  and  Miss  Merriam’s  eyes  were 
misty  at  this  expression  of  affection  from  people  who 
had  grown  into  her  love. 

“ This  is  a really  wonderful  outcome  of  a pleas- 


ii  6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


ant  acquaintance,”  said  Mr.  Emerson.  “ It’s  a com- 
monplace to  say  that  the  world  is  small,  but  there 
isn’t  anything  else  to  say  about  happenings  like  this. 
You  are  some  kind  of  cousin  — we  must  figure  out 
just  what  it  is  — to  Roger  and  Helen  and  Ethel 
Brown  and  Dicky.” 

“You’re  all  so  kind  — I can  only  say  that  I’m 
glad  to  belong  to  the  same  family,”  murmured  Ger- 
trude. 

“ Let’s  hear  the  rest  of  the  story,”  Dorothy 
begged. 

Mr.  Emerson  took  up  the  big  book  again. 

“ ‘ It  was  seven  years  from  the  time  of  his  first 
visit  before  he  could  claim  his  bride  — seven  years 
of  strife  and  of  the  distress  of  body  and  mind  that 
war  brings.  Several  times  came  our  enemy  friend  to 
us,  sometimes  not  for  six  or  eight  months,  again  at 
shorter  intervals.  Once  he  begged  permission  to 
leave  with  us  a leathern  pouch  containing  all  his 
money,  “ For,”  said  he,  “ if  I lose  the  gold  pieces 
there’ll  be  no  money  for  my  bride.”  Together  he 
and  I looked  into  the  bag  and  he  set  down  on  a piece 
of  paper  all  it  held.  There  were  573  pieces  of 
Guinea  gold,  and  a miniature  of  his  mother  painted 
with  delicacy,  a woman  fair  of  face  with  large  blue 
eyes.’  I see  you’ve  inherited  them,”  Mr.  Emerson 
interrupted  himself  to  say.  “ ‘ Set  round  it  was  with 
small  brilliants  and  on  the  gold  back  was  engraved 
her  name  — “ Gertrude  Merriam.”  ’ ” 

“ How  I’d  like  to  see  it!  ” cried  Gertrude. 

“ 1 Then  was  there  also  a ring  shining  with  several 
large  diamonds  which  he  said  was  most  dear  to  him, 
being  his  mother’s  that  he  took  from  her  dead  finger. 
That,  too,  was  marked  “ Gertrude.”  He  wanted 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD 


117 

Patience  to  wear  it,  but  that  would  I not  permit, 
not  only  for  its  great  value  and  the  esteem  in  which 
he  held  it  but  because  so  to  do  would  cause  ques- 
tions by  our  neighbors.’  ” 

“ Shrewd  old  gentleman,”  commented  Roger. 

“ ‘ We  thought  they  knew  not  of  this  compact  by 
which  I kept  the  pouch,  but  later  I was  doubtful. 
When  all  the  gold  pieces  were  counted  and  the  minia- 
ture and  ring  placed  in  a small  wooden  box  on  top  of 
them,  then  Captain  Merriam,  for  he  had  been  pro- 
moted from  his  lieutenancy,  tied  the  mouth  of  the 
pouch  firmly  with  a cord  and  sealed  it  with  his  sig- 
net ring,  and  together  we  put  it  in  the  right-hand 
cupboard  beside  the  fireplace  in  the  room  at  the  right 
of  the  front  door,  pushing  it  well  toward  the  back 
and  fastening  the  door  with  nails  that  showed  not 
on  the  outside.’  ” 

“ ‘ The  right  hand  cupboard  of  the  room  at  the 
right  of  the  front  door,’  ” repeated  Roger.  “ Why, 
that’s  this  room  we’re  in  this  minute ! ” 

“ And  this  was  the  cupboard,  the  one  on  the  right 
hand  side  of  the  fireplace,”  and  Ethel  Brown  ran  to 
the  fireplace  and  threw  open  a small  door  at  the 
height  of  the  mantel  shelf. 

Helen  followed  her  and  peered  in  over  her  shoul- 
der. 

“ It  isn’t  there  now,  children.  Come  back  and 
hear  the  rest  of  the  tale,”  implored  Dorothy. 

“ Can’t  you  see  those  two  men  right  here  at  this 
table  counting  over  all  those  gold  pieces  and  look- 
ing at  the  miniature  of  Miss  Gertrude’s  great-great- 
great-grandmother  and  holding  the  ring  up  to  the 
light  to  see  it  sparkle  ? O-oh ! ” exclaimed  Ethel 
Blue. 


1 1 8 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ He  says  it  was  seven  years  before  Algernon 
could  come  to  claim  his  bride,”  said  Helen  thought- 
fully. “ That  must  have  been  after  the  surrender  of 
Cornwallis  in  1783.” 

“ He  was  with  Cornwallis,  the  story  goes  on  to 
say,  and  he  resigned  from  the  army  and  came  North 
as  soon  as  he  could  after  the  surrender.  Here’s 
what  Grandfather  John  has  to  say  about  it;  ‘It  was 
late  in  November  after  the  Surrender  when  Captain 
Merriam  rode  up  to  my  door  and  Patience  went  out 
to  meet  him  and  he  kissed  her  openly  before  us  all 
and  said  that  he  had  come  to  make  her  his  wife  and 
to  take  her  with  him  to  New  York.  There  was  joy 
in  the  heart  of  my  little  Patience,  but  not  much  de- 
light from  her  brothers  because  they  could  not  easily 
forget  that  the  man  she  wished  to  wed  had  been  their 
enemy  but  yesterday.  Into  the  house  we  went  and 
after  dinner  Captain  Merriam  asked  me  for  the 
pouch  that  he  had  left  with  me,  “ For  in  it,”  he  said, 
“ is  the  fortune  that  must  support  my  wife  till  I es- 
tablish myself  in  the  colonies.”  I went  to  the  cup- 
board and  drew  the  nails  and  thrust  in  my  arm  — 
and  the  leathern  bag  was  not  there ! ’ ” 

“ How  perfectly  thrilling!  ” cried  Ethel  Brown. 

“ Poor  little  Patience,”  sympathized  Ethel  Blue. 
“ What  did  they  do?” 

“ ‘ I was  fair  distraught,  for  not  only  was  the  loss 
of  treasure  great,  but  it  had  been  left  in  my  care  and 
I felt  that  it  would  not  be  unnatural  for  our  guest  to 
distrust  one  who  had  been  the  enemy  of  his  king.  I 
trow  my  face  was  blanched  when  I thrust  in  again 
and  again  and  found  naught.’  ” 

“ Blanched  is  correct,”  exclaimed  Roger  slangily. 

“ ‘ Algernon  searched,  my  sons  searched,  Patience 


THE  MANTEL  CUPBOARD  119 

and  her  mother  searched  — all  in  vain.  We 
plunged  a candle  into  the  darkness,  but  saw  nothing, 
and  we  bent  a stout  wire  and  ran  it  into  crannies 
where  not  a farthing  bit  could  lodge,  so  small  were 
they.  When  at  last  we  ceased  the  hunt  I turned  to 
the  Captain  and  told  him  that  I saw  how  ill  I was 
placed  in  his  mind.  He  was  a gentleman  and  he  re- 
plied instantly  that  no  blame  could  ever  rest  on  me 
in  his  mind  or  on  any  member  of  my  family.  This 
was  handsome  of  him,  for  my  sons  had  not  always 
been  cordial  and  the  needs  of  the  American  army  had 
been  sore,  and  there  were  not  a few  who  would  have 
suspected  that  the  money  had  been  taken  for  the 
army.  Not  so  Captain  Merriam.  He  looked  us 
frankly  in  the  face  and  shook  our  hands  and  ab- 
solved us  every  one  from  blame.  Then  I began  to 
wonder  if  my  neighbors  had  been  as  ignorant  of  our 
British  visitor  as  we  thought  and  that  fact  have  I 
never  decided  to  this  day,  for  never  have  I had  a 
clue  as  to  what  became  of  the  pouch.’  ” 

A cry  of  disappointment  went  up  from  all  the 
group  around  the  table. 

“ O,  do  you  mean  that  he  never  did  find  all  that 
money?  That  nobody  ever  found  it?  ” 

“ Evidently  your  great-great-great-grand  thought 
that  some  loyalist  neighbor  must  have  taken  it  for 
the  army,  because  he  speaks  once  or  twice  of  the 
neighbors  being  suspicious  of  their  friendship  with 
Merriam.” 

“ I hope  it  did  the  army  a lot  of  good  since  it  had 
to  spoil  the  family  romance,”  laughed  Helen.  “ Did 
they  get  married  without  any  money?  ” 

“ Here’s  the  end  of  the  tale.  ‘ Without  the  treas- 
ure in  the  pouch  the  Captain  was  penniless,  and  now 


i2o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


it  was  that  little  Patience  more  than  ever  needed  the 
virtue  indicated  by  her  name.’  ” 

“ I should  say  she  did,”  ejaculated  Della.  “ She 
had  waited  seven  years  already.” 

“ She  was  destined  to  wait  two  more,”  said  Mr. 
Emerson.  “ Merriam  went  to  New  York  and  was 
there  at  the  time  of  the  Evacuation  on  the  25th  of 
November,  1783.  ‘His  friends  pressed  him  to  re- 
turn to  England,’  the  account  goes,  ‘ but  he  stated 
that  his  heart  was  in  the  new  country  and  that  he 
would  stay  and  make  his  fortune  here.  That  he  did, 
but  it  was  two  years  later  before  he  wed  my  patient 
Patience.’  ” 

“ That’s  the  date  in  my  Prayer  Book,”  said  Ger- 
trude, “ 1785.” 

“ He  gave  his  wife  his  mother’s  Prayer  Book,” 
said  Ethel  Blue  softly,  and  she  pressed  Miss  Ger- 
trude’s hand  under  the  table,  for  although  the  new  re- 
lationship did  not  affect  her,  as  she  was  a cousin  of 
Ethel  Brown’s  through  her  father  and  not  through 
her  mother,  she  had  lived  all  her  life  with  her  cousins 
and  any  happiness  that  came  to  them  was  hers  also. 

“ There  was  a time,”  James  recalled,  “ when  old 
Roger  declared  that  there  was  no  romance  left  in 
the  world.  Here’s  a romantic  tale  right  before  our 
eyes.” 

“Isn’t  it!”  exclaimed  Margaret.  “A  story  of 
hidden  treasure  and  a delayed  marriage  — why  it 
couldn’t  be  excelled ! ” 

“ Except,”  added  Mr.  Emerson,  “ by  the  way  in 
which  we  found  out  this  afternoon  that  Miss  Ger- 
trude here  is  our  relative  as  well  as  our  friend.” 


CHAPTER  IX 


TROUBLE  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

4tT  F it  weren’t  that  I could  come  out  here  and  see 
JL  you  every  day  or  so  I should  be  wild  to  get 
back  to  work  in  Oklahoma.” 

Edward  Watkins  was  the  speaker.  He  and  Miss 
Merriam  were  walking  through  a wooded  path  that 
ran  from  Rosemont  to  Rose  House.  The  day  was 
warm  and  the  shade  of  the  trees  was  grateful. 

“ How  is  your  patient?  ” asked  Gertrude. 

“ Getting  on  very  well,  but  the  doctors  won’t  let 
him  travel  yet.” 

“ Have  you  heard  lately  from  your  doctor  in 
Oklahoma?  ” 

“ I hear  about  every  day ! I was  with  him  just 
long  enough  for  him  to  find  that  I was  useful  and 
he’s  wild  to  have  me  there  again.  I wired  him  that 
I’m  ready  to  go,  but  that  the  sick  man  is  nervous 
about  making  the  return  trip  alone.  Of  course  he 
wants  to  keep  on  the  good  side  of  a good  patient,  so 
he  answered,  ‘ Stay  on.’  ” 

“Are  you  able  to  do  anything  for  your  patient? 
He’s  still  in  the  hospital,  isn’t  he?  ” 

“ I go  there  every  day  and  he  sends  me  on  errands 
all  over  town.  I’m  getting  to  know  almost  as  much 
about  oil  as  I do  about  medicine ! But  I’m  rather 
tired  of  playing  errand  boy.” 

“ You  have  a chance  to  see  your  family.” 

“ And  you.  But  I’m  supposed  to  stay  at  the 
121 


122  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


hotel,  much  to  Mother’s  disgust.  I’m  doing  a little 
medical  inspection  among  Father’s  poor  people, 
though.  That  whiles  away  a few  hours  every  day, 
and  of  course,  every  time  I go  to  the  hospital  the 
doctors  there  tell  me  about  any  interesting  new  cases, 
so  I’m  not  ‘ going  stale  ’ entirely.” 

“ As  if  you  could ! ” exclaimed  Gertrude  admir- 
ingly. “ You’re  just  storing  up  ideas  and  informa- 
tion to  startle  the  Oklahoman  natives  with.” 

“ The  ‘ natives  ’ in  Oklahoma  are  all  too  young  to 
be  startled,”  laughed  Edward,  “ but  of  course  I’m 
stowing  away  everything  new  I hear  about  methods 
of  treatment  and  operations  and  so  on  to  tell  Dr. 
Billings  when  I get  back.  Now  let  me  hear  what 
you’ve  been  doing.” 

“ A perfectly  thrilling  thing  happened  a few  days 
ago,”  and  she  told  him  of  the  discovery  of  her  rela- 
tionship to  the  Emersons. 

“ The  children  thought  it  was  just  like  a story  in 
a book,”  she  said,  “ and  I think  so  myself.  Don’t 
you  think  it  is  wonderful?  To  be  living  with  these 
people  and  to  love  them  as  I do  and  then  to  find  that 
we  really  belong  to  each  other?  ” 

“ I certainly  do,  but  you  mustn’t  forget  that  you 
also  belong  to  some  one  else.” 

“ I never  forget  that,”  laughed  Gertrude. 

“ How  do  you  pass  your  days?  ” 

“ The  same  round.  There’s  always  Elisabeth.” 

“ She  does  you  credit.  She’s  as  fat  as  she  ought 
to  be.” 

“ She  gets  tired  more  quickly  than  most  children, 
but  otherwise  she  shows  no  sign  of  her  hard  life  last 
summer  and  fall,  and  she’s  never  ill.” 

“ How  are  these  kiddies  at  Rose  House?  ” 


TROUBLE  AT  ROSE  HOUSE  123 


“ I want  you  to  look  them  over  and  talk  with  the 
mothers.  Dr.  Hancock  comes  over  when  we  send 
for  him,  but  all  these  people  are  so  delicate  that  I 
feel  that  they  ought  to  have  a physician’^  eye  on  them 
all  the  time.” 

“ They  have  you  pretty  often,  don’t  they?  ” 

“ I go  over  every  day  either  in  the  morning  or  the 
afternoon,  and  I give  them  advice  about  the  babies, 
and  teach  them  and  Moya  how  to  prepare  their  food, 
but  they  do  such  strange  things  that  you  can’t  fore- 
stall because  you  never  had  the  wildest  idea  that  any 
woman  in  her  senses  would  treat  a baby  so.” 

Edward  laughed. 

“ Russian  and  Bulgarian  peasant  customs,  I sup- 
pose. I never  shall  forget  the  first  time  I saw  a two- 
day  old  negro  baby  sucking  a bit  of  fat  bacon.  I 
nearly  had  a chill.” 

“ Didn’t  the  child  have  a chill?  ” 

“Not  the  slightest!  If  they  get  ahead  of  you 
with  some  pleasing  little  trick  like  that  you  can  con- 
sole yourself  with  the  thought  that  generally  there 
is  some  basis  of  old-time  experience  that  has  shown 
it  to  be  not  so  harmful  as  we  are  apt  to  think.” 

“ I’ve  done  enough  tenement  house  work  to  know 
that  the  babies  certainly  survive  extraordinary  treat- 
ment, but  these  babies  here  are  so  delicate  that  they 
ought  to  have  the  most  careful  diet.  Most  of  them 
need  real  nursing.” 

“ Do  you  think  your  talks  are  making  any  im- 
pressions on  the  mothers?  ” 

“ Sometimes  Mrs.  Schuler  and  I think  so,  and  just 
then  it  almost  always  happens  that  one  of  them  does 
something  totally  unexpected  that  gives  our  hopes  a 
terrible  blow.” 


124  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Let’s  trust  that  this  is  a good  day;  I’d  rather  talk 
totyou  than  work  over  a case  this  fine  afternoon.” 

Gertrude  smiled  at  his  tone  and  they  walked  on  in 
silence  out  of  the  wood  and  across  the  brook  and 
down  the  lane  that  brought  them  to  the  back  of  Rose 
House  where  the  Club  boys  and  girls  were  busy  mak- 
ing a piece  of  furniture  of  some  sort.  Mrs.  Schuler 
was  talking  to  Moya  in  the  kitchen. 

“ I’ve  brought  Dr.  Watkins  to  see  everybody,”  an- 
nounced Miss  Merriam  gayly.  “ Where  are  they 
all?” 

“ The  ones  who  are  at  home  are  up  in  the  pine 
grove,  but  Moya  has  just  told  me  that  Mrs.  Paterno 
and  her  older  boy  and  Mrs.  Tsanoff  and  one  of  the 
twins  have  gone  to  town.” 

“Walked?” 

“ Walked  by  the  road  on  this  scorching  day  ! ” 

Miss  Merriam  turned  to  the  doctor. 

“ This  is  one  of  the  unexpected  events  we  were 
just  talking  about.  Little  Paterno  is  four  and  too 
large  for  that  little  woman  to  carry,  and  far  too 
small  and  weak  to  take  that  long  walk  on  his  own 
legs  even  on  a more  suitable  day  than  this,  and  the 
Tsanoff  twins  are  just  holding  on  to  life  by  the  tips 
of  their  fingers ! ” 

She  sat  down  in  despair.  Dr.  Watkins  looked 
serious. 

“ Is  there  any  way  of  heading  them  off  or  bring- 
ing them  back.  Can  we  reach  them  anywhere  by 
telephone?  ” 

“ No  one  knows  where  they  can  have  gone.  It 
seems  it  must  have  been  about  an  hour  and  a half 
ago  that  they  started  and  I should  think  they’d  be 
back  before  long  if  they’re  able  to  come  back  — ” 


TROUBLE  AT  ROSE  HOUSE  125 

“ — under  their  own  steam ! ” finished  the  doctor 
with  a doubtful  smile. 

“ Let’s  go  to  the  grove  and  see  the  women  and 
children  there  and  perhaps  the  others  will  be  in  sight 
by  the  time  you’ve  finished  your  examination.” 

They  turned  toward  the  pines  whose  thick  needles 
cast  a heavy  shade  upon  the  ground  and  gave  forth  a 
delicious  fragrance  under  the  rays  of  the  sun.  As 
they  disappeared  Mrs.  Schuler  went  out  on  the  plat- 


form where  the  carpentering  operations  were  going 
on. 

“ I’m  so  disturbed  about  those  women,”  she  said, 
“ I’ve  come  to  see  what  you’re  doing  to  divert  my 
mind  from  them.” 

“ We’re  going  to  make  two  of  these  seats,  one  for 
your  office  and  the  other  for  the  veranda,”  said  Ethel 
Brown,  standing  erect  and  putting  a hand  upon  her 
weary  back.  The  rest  of  the  young  carpenters 
stopped  their  work  and  wiped  their  perspiring  fore- 
heads while  they  explained  the  construction  of  the 
piece  of  furniture  to  their  friend. 

“ This  long  narrow  box  is  the  seat,  you  see.  It’s 


126  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


a shoe  case,  and  it’s  just  the  right  height  for  com- 
fort. Roger  has  put  hinges  on  the  cover,  so  you 
can  use  it  for  a chest  and  keep  rugs  and  cushions 
inside.” 

“ That’s  about  as  simple  as  it  could  be.  Does  it 
take  all  of  you  to  help  Roger  do  that?  ” 

“ O,  that’s  only  a part  of  the  entire  affair.  We’re 
making  these  two  sets  of  shelves  to  go  at  the  ends 
of  the  seat.” 

“ I see.  A great  light  breaks  on  me ! ” 

“ They’re  to  be  fastened  to  the  ends  of  the  seat.” 
“ Not  for  keeps.  That’s  Ethel  Blue’s  patent. 
She  said  it  would  be  awkward  to  move  about  if  it 
were  all  built  together,  so  we’re  making  it  in  three 
parts,  and  we’re  going  to  lock  them  together  with 
hooks  and  screw  eyes.” 

“ That  is  clever ! Then  if  you  want  to  you  can 
use  these  sets  of  shelves  for  little  bookcases  in  an- 
other room  or  you  can  fasten  on  one  of  them  and 
not  the  other.” 

“ Whichever  is  most  convenient.” 

“ Let  me  see  how  they  are  made.” 

“ We  took  two  boxes  as  long  as  this  seat  box  is 
wide  and  took  off  the  covers  and  laid  them  one  on 
top  of  the  other  on  their  sides.” 

“ That  gives  you  a bookcase  right  off.” 

“ That ’s  what  I said,”  remarked  Roger  airily. 
“ Stick  them  together  with  glue  and  there  you  are.” 
“ You  haven’t  fastened  them  together  yet.” 

“ There  is  a strip  three  inches  wide  to  go  across 
the  top  and  another  to  cover  the  joining  of  the  two 
boxes  and  a third  to  cover  the  lower  edge  of  the  bot- 
tom box.  There  are  three  more  on  the  back  just 
like  them,  and  three  on  each  end.” 


TROUBLE  AT  ROSE  HOUSE  127 


“ They  give  it  a neat  appearance.” 

“ Don’t  they?  At  each  of  the  four  corners  we 
put  two  three-inch  strips  at  right  angles,  just  the  way 
Roger  made  the  legs  of  his  chair.  They  look  like 
legs  and  they  strengthen  the  corners.  Four  strips 
around  the  top  edges  finish  that  part.  Perch  the 
whole  on  casters,  and  it  will  move  easily.” 

“ Where  do  the  hooks  and  screw  eyes  go  ? ” 


“ The  screw  eyes  go  on  the  back  legs  at  about  the 
level  of  the  shelf,  and  the  hooks  go  on  the  seat  at 
the  right  height  to  lock  into  them.” 

“ I think  I shall  keep  them  all  locked  together  in 
my  office,”  decided  Mrs.  Schuler. 

“ The  seat  for  your  office  is  to  be  painted  white 
and  the  one  for  the  veranda  is  to  be  stained,  so  that 
if  it  gets  weather-beaten  out  there  it  won’t  look  very 
bad.” 

“ Ethel  Blue  and  I thought  we’d  make  pink  cush- 
ions for  your  office  if  you’d  like  them.” 

“ I think  they’d  be  charming.  That  pink  room 
raises  my  spirits  when  — ” 

u — when  you  get  blue?0  suggested  Roger. 


128  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ I’ll  have  to  go  there  now  to  get  revived  if  those 
women  who  walked  to  town  don’t  turn  up  soon,”  and 
the  Matron  went  to  the  corner  of  the  house  whence 
she  could  see  the  lane  that  led  from  the  road.  “ If 
they  come  home  ill  I’ll  have  to  ask  you  to  make  two 
bed  trays,”  she  suggested  as  she  peered  across  the 
grass. 

“ How  do  you  make  them?  ” 

“ Ask  Ethel  Blue.” 

“ Merely  put  legs  on  a light  board  so  that  the 
weight  of  the  plates  will  be  lifted  from  the  sick  per- 
son’s legs  as  he  sits  up  in  bed.” 

“ What’s  to  prevent  the  plates  sliding  off?  ” 

“ Nothing  if  he’s  much  of  a kicker,  I should  say,” 
laughed  Roger;  “ but  you  could  put  a little  fence  an 
inch  or  two  high  at  the  back  and  sides  and  keep  them 
on  board.” 

“ You’d  better  begin  them  right  off,”  said  Mrs. 
Schuler  dryly,  “ for  here  they  come.” 

She  disappeared  around  the  corner  and  the  young 
people  followed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

Trouble  there  was  in  very  truth.  Mrs.  Paterno 
led  the  way  stumbling  and  running.  Her  face  was 
flushed  a deep,  threatening  crimson  and  her  breath 
came  fast.  By  the  arm  she  held  little  Pietro,  who 
from  exhaustion  had  ceased  to  scream  and  merely 
gave  a gulping  moan  when  the  gravel  scraped  his 
bare  knees  as  his  mother  jerked  him  along  regard- 
less of  whether  he  was  on  his  feet  or  whether  she 
dragged  him.  Behind  them  at  some  distance  came 
Mrs.  Tsanoff  carrying  her  baby  in  her  arms  — one 
of  the  twins  that  always  seemed  to  be  merely  “ hold- 
ing on  to  life  by  the  tips  of  its  fingers,”  to  use  Ger- 
trude’s expression,  and  now  seemed  to  have  lost  even 


TROUBLE  AT  ROSE  HOUSE  129 


that  frail  hold.  It  lay  in  its  mother’s  arms,  white 
and  with  its  eyes  closed. 

Mrs.  Schuler  ran  to  meet  the  Italian  woman  and 
lifted  the  worn  child  into  her  arms  where  he  sank 
against  her  shoulder  as  if  in  a faint. 

“ Run  up  in  the  grove  and  get  Dr.  Watkins  and 
Miss  Gertrude,”  Helen  said  to  Roger.  “ Ask  them 
quietly  to  come  here.  Don’t  frighten  the  women.” 

Roger  dashed  away,  his  swift  feet  slowing  to  a 
walk  as  he  neared  the  bit  of  woods  where  he  deliv- 
ered his  message  in  an  undertone.  Ethel  Blue, 
meanwhile,  had  rushed  into  the  house  to  tell  Moya 
to  heat  plenty  of  water  and  to  crack  some  ice,  and 
Margaret  had  opened  Mrs.  Schuler’s  closet  of  simple 
remedies  and  found  the  bottle  of  aromatic  spirits  of 
ammonia.  Ethel  Brown  and  James  ran  to  meet 
Mrs.  Tsanoff,  Ethel  taking  the  baby  from  her  and 
James  steadying  her  shaking  steps  by  a stout  arm 
under  her  elbow. 

As  Dr.  Watkins  ran  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  he  came  upon  Helen  trying  to  help  Mrs.  Pa- 
terno,  who  was  pushing  her  away  with  both  hands, 
while  she  kept  looking  over  her  shoulder  and  scream- 
ing hysterically.  Edward  seized  her  hands  and  com- 
manded her  attention  at  once  by  speaking  to  her  in 
Italian.  Although  she  did  not  know  him  she  re- 
sponded to  his  command  to  tell  him  of  what  she  was 
afraid,  and  poured  out  a story  of  terror.  “Mane 
nera,  mano  nera  — the  Black  Hand,”  she  repeated 
over  and  over  again,  and  Edward,  who  had  heard 
her  history,  realized  that  something  she  had  seen 
had  set  her  mind  in  the  old  train  of  thought.  While 
Miss  Merriam  attended  to  the  children  he  calmed 
the  woman  and  then  turned  her  over  to  Mrs.  Schuler 
56 


130  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


with  instructions  to  put  her  to  bed  in  a darkened 
room  and  to  see  that  some  one  stayed  with  her  or 
just  outside  her  door. 

Fortunately  for  the  doctor  his  experience  with  the 
people  among  whom  his  father  worked  in  his  East 
Side  chapel  had  given  him  a smattering  of  many  lan- 
guages and  he  was  able  to  make  out  from  Mrs. 
Tsanoff,  although  her  fright  and  fatigue  had  made 
her  forget  almost  all  the  English  she  knew,  what  had 
terrified  her  companion.  They  had  gone  to  the 
stationery  shop  of  the  Englishman  who  also  sold  ice 
cream  and  soda,  she  said,  and  they  had  had  each  a 
glass  of  soda  and  the  children  had  each  had  an  ice 
cream  cone. 

Edward  groaned  and  over  his  shoulder  directed 
Della  to  run  and  tell  Miss  Merriam  that  both  babies 
had  had  ice  cream  cones.  “It  will  help  her  to  know 
what  to  do  until  I come,”  he  explained. 

Just  as  they  were  coming  out  of  the  store  a dark 
man  who  looked  like  an  Italian  had  passed  them. 
So  far  as  she  noticed  he  had  paid  no  attention  to 
them,  but  Mrs.  Paterno  had  seized  her  arm,  pointing 
after  him,  and  then  had  picked  up  Pietro  and  started 
to  run  toward  home.  Neither  far  nor  fast  could  she 
go  in  such  heat  with  such  a burden  and  the  poor  little 
chap  was  soon  tossed  down  and  forced  to  run  with 
giant  strides  all  the  rest  of  the  eternal  mile  that 
stretched  between  Rosemont  and  Rose  House.  Mrs. 
Tsanoff  herself  had  followed  as  fast  as  she  could  be- 
cause she  was  afraid  that  something,  she  knew  not 
what,  would  happen  to  her  friend. 

She,  too,  was  sent  to  bed,  with  Moya  standing  over 
her  to  lay  cool  compresses  on  her  eyes,  to  sponge 


TROUBLE  AT  ROSE  HOUSE  131 


her  wrists  and  ankles  with  cool  water  and  to  lay  an 
occasional  bit  of  cracked  ice  on  her  parched  lips. 

The  condition  of  the  two  children  was  pitiable. 
The  heat,  the  sudden  chill  from  the  ice  cream  and 
the  terrible  homeward  rush  sent  them  both  so  nearly 
into  a collapse  that  the  doctor,  Mrs.  Schuler  and 
Miss  Merriam  worked  over  them  all  night,  resting 
only  when  Dr.  Hancock,  who  had  heard  the  story 
from  James  and  Margaret  and  came  up  to  see  the 
state  of  affairs,  relieved  them  for  an  hour. 

“ How  are  we  ever  going  to  teach  them  the  mad- 
ness of  such  behavior?  ” Gertrude  asked  wearily  as 
Dr.  Watkins  insisted  that  she  and  Mrs.  Schuler 
should  go  to  bed  as  the  dawn  broke. 

“ The  poor  little  Italian  woman  is  almost  mad  al- 
ready, thanks  to  this  Black  Hand  business.  It  will 
take  her  a long  time  to  recover  her  balance,  but  I 
think  I can  teach  the  others  a lesson  from  this  expe- 
rience of  their  friends.  Wait  till  to-morrow  comes 
and  hear  me  talk  five  languages  at  once,”  he  prom- 
ised cheerfully  as  he  turned  her  over  to  Mrs.  Schuler. 


CHAPTER  X 


A FILE  OF  DUCKS 


HE  escapade  of  the  Italian  and  Bulgarian 


women  played  havoc  with  the  calm  of  Rose 


House  for  several  days.  The  women  themselves 
had  narrow  escapes  from  illness  and  the  children 
were  so  seriously  ill  that  a trained  nurse  had  to  be 
sent  up  from  the  Glen  Point  Hospital,  as  neither 
Miss  Merriam  nor  Mrs.  Schuler  could  undertake 
nursing  in  addition  to  their  other  work. 

When  all  was  well  again  Miss  Merriam  redoubled 
her  efforts  to  teach  the  women  something  of  proper 
care  of  their  children  and  themselves,  and,  with  the 
help  of  Dr.  Watkins’s  knowledge  of  languages,  she 
began  to  hope  that  she  was  making  some  progress. 
Mrs.  Tsanoff  and  Mrs.  Peterson,  who  had  little 
babies,  were  taught  to  modify  milk  for  them,  the 
dangers  of  giving  small  children  foods  unsuited  to 
their  age  was  talked  about  now  with  the  recent  ex- 
perience to  point  the  moral;  and  ways  of  keeping  well 
in  hot  weather  were  explained  and  listened  to  with 
interest. 

Substitutes  for  meat  were  discussed  earnestly, 
chiefly  on  account  of  the  high  cost  of  living  but  also 
because  meat  was  declared  to  be  far  too  heating  for 
warm  weather  use.  Each  of  the  women  knew  of 
some  dish  which  took  the  place  of  meat  and  she  was 
glad  to  tell  the  others  about  it.  Mrs.  Paterno  knew 


A FILE  OF  DUCKS 


i33 

very  well  that  cheese  is  one  of  the  best  substitutes  for 
meat  that  there  is. 

“Americans  eat  cheesa  after  meata;  then  sick,” 
she  declared  with  truth.  Her  receipt  for  a risotto 
Moya  wrote  down  in  the  blank  book  in  which  she 
was  collecting  receipts  and  Mrs.  Paterno  beamed 
when  it  came  onto  the  table. 

A little  chopped  onion  had  been  fried  in  the  pan 
first.  Over  it  was  spread  a layer  of  boiled  rice; 
over  that  came  a layer  of  cheese,  either  grated  or 
cut  in  very  thin  slices.  More  rice  and  more  cheese 
enriched  the  combination  and  a beaten  egg  on  top  of 
all  turned  a delicate  brown  in  the  oven  in  which  the 
dish  was  baked  until  the  topmost  layer  of  cheese  was 
thoroughly  melted. 

“ Very  good,”  was  the  universal  compliment  that 
pleased  both  Mrs.  Paterno  and  Moya,  and  the  latter 
was  soon  trying  baked  macaroni  with  grated  cheese 
on  top,  and  cheese  omelets,  and  rice  and  tomato  with 
a hint  of  onion  below  and  a dash  of  cheese  above. 

Mrs.  Vereshchagin  was  wise,  like  all  Russians,  in 
the  making  of  soups.  To  be  sure,  she  had  not 
learned  much  about  soups  made  entirely  of  vegetables 
until  poverty  had  enlightened  her  in  this  country,  but 
she  remembered  the  delicious  cereal  preparations 
that  are  put  into  nearly  all  soups  in  Russia  after  they 
are  on  the  table,  just  as  rice  is  served  in  our  own 
southern  states.  The  circulars  distributed  in  New 
York  from  Mayor  Mitchell’s  office  had  taught  Mrs. 
Vereshchagin  and  her  neighbors  the  value  of  keep- 
ing the  water  that  rice  or  peas  or  barley  or  beans  or 
lentils  or  carrots  or  turnips  had  been  boiled  in  to 
add  flavor  and  richness  to  soup.  A stew  made  of 
various  vegetables  cut  into  small  bits  and  boiled  to- 


134  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

gether  made,  they  found,  a hearty  and  satisfying 
meal. 

None  of  them  had  been  able  to  afford  cream  soups 
because  milk  in  New  York  costs  so  much  that  there 
never  is  any  for  the  family  after  the  babies  have  had 
theirs,  and  the  babies  are  lucky  to  get  it.  Because 
cream  soups  were  a luxury  they  all  clamored  delight- 
edly over  Moya’s  and  begged  her  to  tell  how  she 
made  them  so  that  they  might  copy  if  ever  the  time 
came  when  they  could  have  milk  to  spare.  Moya 
told  them  that  she  made  a white  sauce  in  the  propor- 
tion of  two  cups  of  milk  to  one  tablespoonful  of  flour 
and  one  of  butter.  First  she  melted  the  butter,  then 
she  thickened  it  with  the  flour,  then  she  added  the 
milk.  To  this  she  added  the  corn  or  asparagus  or 
celery  or  green  peas  or  beans  that  she  had  previously 
cooked  and  mashed  and  thinned  until  it  made  about 
two  cupfuls. 

Beans  and  lentils  were  Mrs.  Peterson’s  strong 
point.  She  had  found  their  value  to  be  great,  as  a 
substitute  for  meat,  her  only  objection  to  them  being 
that  they  required  a long  time  to  cook.  This  she 
had  learned  to  prevent,  in  part,  by  soaking  them 
overnight.  Helen  who  heard  her  talking  about  it, 
explained  the  fireless  cooker  to  her  and  helped  her 
make  one  at  Rose  House,  both  that  Moya  might 
save  fuel  for  the  house  and  that  the  women  might 
learn  how  to  use  it.  Their  amazement  at  what  it 
could  do  was  great. 

“ Miss  Dawson,  our  domestic  science  teacher,  told 
us  there  ought  to  be  five  kinds  of  foods  in  every 
meal,”  said  Ethel  Brown  one  day.  “ I wish  I could 
make  them  understand  that.” 

She  tried,  but  whether  they  did  understand  or  not 


A FILE  OF  DUCKS 


i35 


she  did  not  know  until  Edward  Watkins  came  out 
again  and  she  made  him  act  as  her  interpreter. 
There  ought  to  be  protein,  she  told  them,  to  replace 
meat,  and  cheese  and  beans  and  nuts  were  the  best 
providers  of  that;  there  ought  to  be  starch,  and 
potatoes,  rice,  wheat  bread  furnish  that;  there  ought 
to  be  the  fat  of  butter  or  oil;  there  ought  to  be 
sugar,  either  from  the  cane  or  molasses  or  that  of 
beets  or  corn  or  other  sugary  vegetables.  Then 
there  ought  to  be  some  green  stuff,  such  as  spinach  or 
a leaf  of  lettuce  or  some  fruit.  In  all  vegetables 
there  is  some  of  the  mineral  matter  that  is  necessary 
for  digestion  and  bonebuilding,  so  the  ordinarily 
well  person  does  not  need  to  think  about  providing 
that  especially. 

“ Peanuts  — fine  American  food,”  pronounced 
Mrs.  Tsanoff,  and  the  doctor  agreed  with  her. 

“ They  taste  best  roasted,”  he  said  “ but  they’re 
most  nourishing  raw.  You  have  to  chew  them  a lot, 
though,  so  they’re  easiest  to  eat  when  they’re  made 
into  a paste  with  butter.” 

“ Peanut  butter;  that’s  great  for  sandwiches,”  said 
Ethel  Brown. 

Chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  little  Italian 
woman  a change  of  thought,  the  U.  S.  C.  made  a 
point  of  providing  Rose  House  with  some  sort  of 
entertainment  every  few  days.  Once  they  introduced 
the  inmates  to  an  American  hayride,  and  the  four 
women,  with  Moya  and  the  older  children,  screamed 
with  delight  as  they  found  themselves  moving  slowly 
along  on  a real  load  of  hay  — for  Grandfather 
Emerson  declared  that  that  was  the  only  kind  of 
hayride  worth  having. 

Again  they  all  stowed  themselves  away  in  the 


136  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

automobile  and  went  to  a pond  ten  miles  away  for  a 
day’s  picnic.  That  proved  not  to  be  a success,  for 
everybody  was  so  tired  all  the  next  day  that  there 
was  a nearer  approach  to  disagreement  among  them 
than  ever  happened  before.  Mrs.  Schuler  made  up 
her  mind  that  home  — meaning  Rose  House  — was 
the  best  place  for  them  and  that  amusements  must  be 
found  at  home  and  not  afield.  Mrs.  Paterno  was 
especially  upset  by  fatigue  and  the  Matron  feared 


that  her  steady  improvement  under  Dr.  Watkins’s 
care  might  be  entirely  counteracted.  To  keep  her 
quiet  she  took  her  with  her  to  the  berry  pasture 
where  they  spent  a peaceful  afternoon  picking  berries 
and  trying  to  exchange  experiences  about  America. 

The  group  left  on  the  veranda,  sewed  and  napped 
while  the  larger  children  played  on  the  grass  before 
them.  The  Ethels  and  Dicky  came  over  with  Roger 
to  stay  while  he  nailed  together  some  footstools  for 
the  women  to  use  on  the  porch.  A small  plain  box 
answered  the  purpose  for  some  of  them  and  four 
short  legs  with  a top  served  for  others. 

The  Ethels  had  meant  to  do  some  carpentry,  too, 


A FILE  OF  DUCKS 


i37 


but  the  afternoon  was  warm  and  they  were  tired  from 
their  walk,  so  they  decided  to  amuse  the  children  and 
do  no  hammering  until  another  day. 

For  a time  they  were  too  tired  even  to  play,  and 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  watching  the  babies 
roll  about  on  the  grass,  and  listening  to  the  strange 
jumble  of  languages  that  came  from  their  infant 
throats.  Young  Paterno,  aged  four,  little  Veresh- 
chagin, five,  and  Olga  Peterson  three  years  old,  could 
say  “ All  right  ” and  “ Bully  ” and  some  other  Eng- 
lish words  not  so  pleasant  to  hear.  The  Ethels 
wondered  if  the  remarks  they  made  in  other  tongues 
were  of  the  same  kind.  Strangely  enough,  the  chil- 
dren seemed  to  understand  each  other  sufficiently  well 
for  purposes  of  amusement,  and  any  one  of  them 
who  wanted  to  propose  a new  game  made  it  clear 
to  the  rest  in  some  mysterious  fashion  without  ap- 
parent trouble.  Dicky  joined  the  throng,  and  be- 
cause he  was  almost  two  years  older  than  the  oldest, 
seemed  to  become  a leader  immediately,  though  his 
commands  were  issued  chiefly  in  the  sign  language. 

Only  one  incident  marred  the  quiet  of  the  after- 
noon. Ethel  Blue  noticed  the  absence  of  the  two- 
year  old  Paterno  and  as  the  Italian  family  was  very 
much  on  everybody’s  mind  she  went  around  the 
house  to  hunt  him  up.  Under  an  oak  on  the  lawn 
she  spied  a pair  of  gingham  rompers  and  made  her 
way  at  once  to  the  spot  to  see  what  made  the  baby 
so  unnaturally  still.  Not  a muscle  moved  as  she 
approached,  yet  the  little  fellow  must  be  wide  awake, 
she  thought,  for  he  was  standing.  His  back  was 
against  the  tree  as  close  as  he  could  shrink,  his  tiny 
palms  thrust  forward  as  if  to  ward  off  an  enemy. 

Ethel  broke  into  a run  as  she  came  near  enough 


138  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


to  see  this  attitude  and  to  guess  at  its  meaning. 
What  Luigi's  opponent  was  she  could  not  tell,  but 
she  thought  that  perhaps  one  of  her  grandfather’s 
turkeys  or  geese  had  wandered  away  from  home 
and  she  knew  that  either  of  those  fowls  makes  a 
formidable  opponent.  Her  imagination  even  went 
so  far  as  to  picture  a rattlesnake  whirring  his  tail  at 
the  terrified  child. 

Terrified  he  certainly  was.  He  was  stiff  with  fear. 
Ethel  forgot  the  heat  and  ran  fast.  Even  when 
she  was  quite  near  she  could  see  nothing  to  frighten 
the  baby  and  she  began  to  think  that  he  had  had  a 
sudden  foreknowledge  that  he  was  to  be  an  actor 
when  he  was  grown  and  was  already  practicing  for 
the  stage. 

It  was  not  until  she  was  close  to  the  tree  that  she 
saw  the  cause  of  his  disturbance.  A comfortable 
gray  squirrel,  made  fat  by  the  generous  feeding  of 
the  Allen  children  and  so  tame  that  he  ate  from  their 
hands,  was  standing  reared  on  his  haunches  before 
the  boy,  whisking  his  tail  and  doing  his  best  to  ask 
for  crumbs.  Even  when  Ethel  came  running  up  he 
did  not  move,  and  when  she  sat  down  on  the  grass 
to  show  the  baby  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear  from 
this  small  enemy,  he  jumped  into  her  lap  and  made 
himself  entirely  at  home.  A cooky  in  the  pocket  of 
her  middy  blouse  satisfied  him  and  he  leaped  away 
and  scampered  up  the  oak.  Little  Paterno  gazed  up 
after  him  with  relief  written  on  his  small  features 
and  uttered  the  name  of  the  one  animal  with  which 
the  city  streets  had  made  him  familiar  — “ Horse.” 

Ethel  laughed  and  led  him  back  to  the  porch, 
where  he  joined  the  other  children  and  apparently 
told  his  adventure  to  his  brother,  who  listened  in- 


A FILE  OF  DUCKS 


139 

tently  to  what  sounded  to  the  Ethels  like  a mere 
jumble  of  sounds. 

“ I’m  positively  too  tired  even  to  watch  these  chil- 
dren,” confessed  Ethel  Blue.  “ I believe  I’ll  go  in 
and  see  what  Moya  is  doing  and  perhaps  lie  down  on 
the  sofa  in  the  hall.” 

“ I’m  tired,  too.  You’ll  find  me  in  the  grove  when 
you  want  me.” 

So  the  cousins  separated,  leaving  Dicky  and  the 
children  still  playing  before  the  veranda  where  the 
mothers  — Bulgarian,  Russian  and  Swedish  — and 
the  tiny  babies  dozed  farther  and  farther  over  the 
borderland  of  sleep.  Even  Roger’s  whistle  died 
away  from  his  workbench  behind  the  house.  He 
had  gone  off  to  the  shade  of  an  apple  tree. 

It  may  have  been  an  hour  later  that  Ethel  Brown, 
lying  on  the  pine  needles  in  the  grove  and  dozing  like 
the  rest,  heard  a wild  shriek  from  inside  the  house. 
She  rushed  through  the  back  door  into  the  hall  where 
she  found  that  Ethel  Blue  had  just  sprung  from  the 
sofa  and  was  running  over  the  stairs.  Roger  came 
in  by  the  front  door  at  the  same  time,  and  he  and 
Mrs.  Schuler,  who  had  returned  from  her  walk  but 
recently,  it  seemed,  since  she  still  had  her  sunbonnet 
on,  joined  the  upward  move,  Mr.  Schuler  gazing 
after  them  as  he  swayed  on  his  crutches.  The 
women  began  to  come  in  from  the  veranda,  dazed 
with  sleep  but  holding  tightly  to  their  babies. 

Piercing  shrieks  continued  to  ring  out  from  the 
upper  story. 

“ It’s  Mrs.  Paterno,”  flashed  through  every  mind, 
not  only  because  she  was  the  only  one  missing  from 
the  family  group,  but  because  all  of  them  had  been 
disturbed  about  her  since  her  fright  in  Rosemont. 


i4o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


When  she  recovered  she  had  told  Dr.  Watkins  that 
she  did  not  know  the  Italian  she  saw  and  that  he 
made  no  sign  to  her  — she  thought  he  did  not  even 
look  at  her  — so  they  knew  that  she  was  in  no  danger 
from  her  fellow-countrymen,  but  that  she  was  threat- 
ened by  serious  hysteria. 

Ethel  Blue  and  Mrs.  Schuler  were  the  first  to  reach 
the  head  of  the  stairs  and  they  found  that  the  screams 
did  indeed  come  from  Mrs.  Paterno’s  room.  She 
was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  shrieking 
“My  children,  my  children!  Gone!  Gone! 
Mano  nera!  Mano  nera!  ” 

Mrs.  Schuler  tried  to  quiet  her. 

“ The  children  are  all  right,”  she  insisted  over 
and  over  again.  “ They  are  all  right.” 

She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  Italian’s  face  in  an 
effort  to  pacify  her.  Without  turning  her  head  she 
said  to  Roger,  “ Bring  the  children  here.” 

Roger  jumped  down  the  stairs  three  at  a time  and 
out  of  doors  to  the  spot  where  the  children  had  been 
playing  when  he  had  last  noticed  them. 

Not  a child  was  in  sight  and  not  a sound  betrayed 
their  whereabouts.  He  ran  wildly  around  the  house, 
meeting  at  the  back  door  the  distracted  Mrs.  Pa- 
terno  who  had  rushed  from  her  room  after  him,  fol- 
lowed by  the  Matron,  the  Ethels,  Moya  and  her 
Bulgarian,  Swedish  and  Russian  friends,  still  carry- 
ing their  babies,  no  longer  silent  but  yelling  lustily. 

The  procession  swept  by  Roger  who  gazed  after 
them  in  wonder  while  he  cudgelled  his  brains  to  think 
of  the  next  place  to  look  for  the  absent  children. 

“ She’s  headed  for  the  pond;  I’ll  bet  she  thinks 
the  Black  Hand  has  thrown  the  children  in  or  else 
she’s  going  to  throw  herself  in,”  he  thought,  looking 


A FILE  OF  DUCKS 


141 

after  them  as  they  ran  up  the  lane.  “ Poor  soul,  if 
she  could  only  realize  that  the  pond  is  so  dry  that 
you  could  put  it  into  a water  pitcher  for  dinner  she 
wouldn’t  get  so  excited.  The  kids  couldn’t  drown 
unless  they  lay  on  their  faces,  and  then  they’d  only 
just  about  get  a good  drink!  ” 

On  went  the  throng  and  out  of  sight,  their  voices 
coming  but  faintly  to  his  ears. 

“Why  am  I standing  here?”  he  wondered  sud- 
denly. “ I might  as  well  go  too.  The  young  ones 
certainly  aren’t  anywhere  about  these  diggings.” 

He,  too,  ran  up  the  lane  after  the  weeping  women. 
Silence  fell  on  the  house  abandoned  by  every  occu- 
pant except  Mr.  Schuler  who  hobbled  to  the  back 
door  and  gazed  on  the  empty  scene  untouched  by  any 
sign  of  life.  Shaking  his  head  wonderingly  he 
lighted  his  pipe  and  he,  too,  disappeared. 

Roger  sped  on,  and,  being  light  of  foot,  soon 
caught  up  with  the  rearguard.  The  van,  he  saw  as 
he  looked  ahead,  was  turning  from  the  lane  at  the 
end  of  the  fence  and  advancing  into  the  woods  in 
pursuit  of  Mrs.  Paterno.  She  ran  on  as  if  she  knew 
where  she  was  going.  Perhaps  her  instinct  told  her; 
if  so,  she  was  the  only  one  possessed  of  the  informa- 
tion. 

Before  Roger  could  reach  the  Ethels,  who  were 
well  to  the  fore,  another  wild  cry  fell  on  his  ears. 
This  time  it  seemed  to  be  a cry  of  joy.  He  hurried 
as  fast  as  he  could.  They  were  all  turning  back 
toward  the  house  and  following  the  lane  fence  on  the 
other  side.  When  they  came  to  the  brook  they 
stopped  at  what  the  Morton  children  had  always 
called  the  “ pond,”  which  was  really  only  a widening 
of  the  shallow  stream  into  a pool.  Here  the  women 


142  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


lined  up  along  the  bank,  and  Roger  arrived  in  time 
to  see  Mrs.  Paterno  fling  herself  upon  his  brother 
Dicky  and  hold  him  up  in  the  air  as  if  he  had  been 
of  the  weight  of  her  own  two-year-old  instead  of  a 
sturdy  lad  of  nearly  seven.  Dicky  was  pale  with 
fright  at  the  sudden  attack,  and  Roger  rushed  for- 
ward to  rescue  him.  As  he  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
brook  he  could  not  help  bursting  into  laughter  at  the 
sight  that  met  his  eyes.  Right  down  the  middle  of 
the  stream,  the  water  flowing  gently  round  their 
rompers,  sat  every  one  of  the  missing  children,  and 
Dicky  had  been  plucked  from  the  proud  position  of 
leader  of  the  file  of  ducks. 

With  a shake  that  seemed  to  relieve  her  mind  en- 
tirely Mrs.  Paterno  dropped  her  victim  and  pounced 
upon  her  own  offspring.  She  lifted  them  regardless 
of  their  dripping  garments  and  carried  them  off,  one 
under  each  arm,  Mrs.  Peterson  did  the  same  for  her 
daughter,  and  Mrs.  Vereshchagin  gathered  up  both 
her  boys. 

“ Dicky,  Dicky,”  exclaimed  Ethel  Brown  in  a tone 
of  remonstrance,  “ what  possessed  you  to  do  such  a 
thing ! ” 

But  Dicky  was  squeezing  the  water  out  of  his 
rompers  and  did  not  condescend  to  answer. 


CHAPTER  XI 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED 

DOROTHY  and  the  Ethels  were  sitting  under 
the  tree  in  which  lived  the  squirrel  that  had 
caused  such  uncomfortable  emotions  in  the  little 
Paterno.  At  the  moment  he  was  skirmishing  for 
cookies  on  the  outskirts  of  the  group.  The  girls 
were,  however,  too  busy  talking  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion to  him.  It  was  the  day  after  Mrs.  Paterno’s 
outbreak  caused  by  Dicky’s  attempt  to  amuse  the 
children,  and  the  discussion  was  about  her. 

“ Edward  Watkins  says  she’s  on  the  verge  of 
hysteria,  whatever  that  is.  I wish  there  was  some- 
thing we  could  do  for  her.” 

“ The  quiet  out  here  ought  to  help.  She  isn’t 
likely  to  see  many  Italians  to  start  her  thinking  about 
the  Black  Hand  and  there  won’t  be  many  excitements 
like  yesterday’s  to  stir  her  up.” 

“ Why  didn’t  the  other  women  get  excited  yester- 
day when  they  found  their  children  were  out  of 
sight?” 

“ Perhaps  they  were  worried  only  they  didn’t 
show  it.” 

“ And  she  set  up  that  awful  uproar  when  she  was 
worried  because  she  couldn’t  control  herself,  I sup- 
pose. That  must  be  the  difference.” 

“ If  that’s  the  reason  why  couldn’t  she  be  taught 
or  helped  to  control  herself?  If  she  could  be  made 
to  understand  that  she’s  doing  herself  and  her  chil- 

143 


i44  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


dren  harm  and  upsetting  other  people  she  might  make 
an  effort  to  ‘ keep  on  the  mat  ’ as  the  Danish  people 
say,  when  something  unexpected  happens.” 

“ Poor  soul,  such  a fearful,  unexpected  thing  hap- 
pened when  her  husband  was  killed  that  she  probably 
thinks  that  all  unexpected  things  are  going  to  end 
awfully.” 

“ If  she  thinks  about  it  at  all.” 

“ Can’t  she  be  made  to  think  about  it?  ” 

“ Nobody  but  Edward  Watkins  knows  enough 
Italian  to  talk  to  her  and  when  she  gets  excited  she 
forgets  the  little  English  she  knows.  Let’s  ask  him 
to  tell  her  that  she’s  making  herself  ill  by  letting  her- 
self be  so  afraid  of  the  Black  Hand  all  the  time  and 
by  being  so  anxious.  Don’t  you  know  how  you  get 
sort  of  paralyzed  when  you  worry  about  things? 
That’s  what  happened  to  me  when  I was  afraid  I 
wasn’t  going  to  pass  my  geography  examination  in 
June.  I believe  I really  shouldn’t  have  passed  it  if 
I hadn’t  made  up  my  mind  that  I was  going  to  do 
my  best  to  pass  so  I’d  better  stop  worrying  about  it 
and  make  my  best  better  if  I could.” 

“ If  Dr.  Watkins  could  make  Mrs.  Paterno  see 
how  she  had  done  some  real  harm  just  one  time  by 
going  off  the  handle  this  way  perhaps  she  might  re- 
member it  when  something  upset  her  again  or  when 
she  began  being  anxious  again.” 

“ I should  think  she  had  had  one  good  lesson  when 
she  brought  Mrs.  Vereshchagin  home  from  Rose- 
mont  on  the  run  and  nearly  killed  the  two  children.” 
“ The  run  wasn’t  the  whole  cause  of  their  illness; 
don’t  forget  the  ice  cream  cones ! ” 

“ Well,  take  yesterday.  If  he  could  make  her 
understand  that  there  isn’t  anything  on  the  place  here 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED  14s 


that  could  hurt  the  children.  As  Roger  said,  they’d 
have  to  try  mighty  hard  to  get  drowned  in  the  brook, 
it’s  so  dry,  and  there  isn’t  a horse  nearer  than  Grand- 
father’s, nor  a cow  nearer  than  the  pasture,  nor  any 
steep  place  that  they  can  fall  down,  and  the  gate  is 
always  kept  shut  into  the  road  so  they  can’t  stray  out 
there  and  get  run  over  — ” 

“ But  she  thought  they  had  been  kidnapped.” 

“ So  she  did,  poor  soul.  But  if  she  could  just  un- 
derstand that  it  isn’t  any  use  to  cry  until  you’re  sure 
you’re  hurt ! And  if  she  could  see  that  she  worked 
all  the  other  women  up  into  a state  of  fearful  ex- 
citement and  distressed  Mrs.  Schuler.” 

“ Edward  Watkins  would  say  that  she  was  too 
weak  now  to  be  able  to  control  herself,  but  I wonder 
if  she  couldn’t  be  made  to  think  about  other  things 
so  much  that  she  wouldn’t  have  time  to  think  about 
these  things  that  frighten  her.” 

“ Your  grandfather  told  me  once  about  a field 
he  had  that  was  filled  with  daisies,”  said  Ethel  Blue. 
“ It  looked  awfully  pretty,  but  it  spoiled  the  field  for 
a pasture ; the  cows  wouldn’t  touch  them.” 

“ I remember  that  field.  We  used  to  make  daisy 
chains  and  trim  Mother’s  room  with  them,”  said 
Ethel  Brown. 

“ Mr.  Emerson  tried  ploughing  up  the  field  and  he 
had  men  working  over  it  for  two  seasons,  but  on  the 
third,  up  they  grew  again  as  gay  as  you  please. 
They  acted  as  if  he  had  just  been  stirring  up  the  soil 
so  they  would  grow  better  than  ever.” 

“ Poor  Grandfather;  he  had  a hard  time  with  that 
field.” 

“ He  said  he  really  needed  it  for  a pasture,  so  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  if  he  couldn’t  root  out  the  bad 

57 


146  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


plants  he’d  crowd  them  out.  So  he  bought  some 
seed  of  a kind  of  grass  that  has  large,  strong  roots, 
and  he  sowed  it  in  the  field.  As  soon  as  it  began  to 
grow  he  could  see  that  there  certainly  were  not  so 
many  daisies  there.  He  kept  on  another  year  and 
the  cows  began  to  look  over  the  fence  as  if  they’d  like 
to  get  in.  The  third  year  there  were  so  few  daisies 
that  they  didn’t  count.” 

“ I remember  all  that,”  said  Ethel  Brown,  “ but 
what  does  it  have  to  do  with  Mrs.  Paterno?  ” 

“ Why,  if  we  — or  Edward  — could  make  her 
get  a grip  on  herself  and  control  herself  that  would 
be  like  Mr.  Emerson’s  digging  up  the  daisies.  It 
would  be  hard  work  and  an  awfully  slow  process. 
But  if  we  also  could  fill  her  mind  with  thoughts  about 
working  for  her  children  and  trying  to  make  other 
people  happy  and  with  making  embroidery  which 
she  loves  to  do,  why  wouldn’t  it  help?  These  new7 
things  she’s  thinking  about  would  be  like  the  strong, 
new  grass  seed  that  didn’t  give  the  weeds  a chance 
to  grow.” 

Dorothy  stared  seriously  at  Ethel  Blue. 

“ She  does  perfectly  beautiful  embroidery,”  she 
said  slowly,  as  she  tried  to  think  out  a way  to  put 
Ethel  Blue’s  suggestion  into  effect.  “ Do  you  sup- 
pose she’d  be  willing  to  teach  us  how  to  do  it?  That 
beautiful  Italian  cut  work,  you  know.  If  we  should 
call  ourselves  a class  and  ask  her  to  teach  us  it 
might  give  her  something  quite  new  to  think  about.” 

“ I’d  like  to  learn,  too,”  agreed  Ethel  Blue.  “ I 
heard  Mother  say  once  that  there  was  a school  in 
New  York  for  Italian  lace  work.  Let’s  get  Della 
to  find  out  about  it,  and  when  Mrs.  Paterno  grows 
stronger  and  goes  back  to  the  city  she  might  go 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED  147 

there.  They  have  a shop  uptown  where  they  sell 
the  pupils’  work.  The  class  here  and  the  prospect 
of  having  regular  employment  when  she  went 

back >* 

“ Work  she  likes.” 

“ — might  give  her  a new  interest  now  and  give 
her  hope  for  the  winter  so  she  wouldn’t  have  time  to 
think  ' mano  nera  ’ every  time  Pietro  goes  around 
the  corner.” 

“What  are  you  youngsters  plotting?”  asked  the 
cheerful  voice  of  Grandfather  Emerson,  who  came 
around  the  big  oak  from  the  grass  grown  lane  so 
quietly  that  they  did  not  hear  him  coming. 

They  told  him  their  plan,  and  he  listened  intently. 

“ The  poor  little  woman  has  had  such  a shock  that 
it  will  be  a long  time  before  she  can  control  herself, 
I’m  afraid,”  he  responded  sympathetically,  “ but  I 
believe  you’ve  hit  on  the  right  way.” 

“ Then  we’ll  get  Edward  Watkins  to  ask  her 
whether  she’ll  be  willing  to  teach  a class,  and  we’ll 
all  join  it.” 

“ The  other  women  might  like  to  learn,  too.” 

“ Perhaps  they  could  teach.  Bulgarian  embroid- 
ery has  been  fashionable  lately,  you  know,  and  the 
peasant  women  do  it.” 

“ Your  grandmother  and  I went  through  a Peas- 
ant’s Bazar  when  we  were  in  Petrograd  and  there 
were  mounds  of  embroidery  there  that  the  peasant 
women  had  made.” 

“ The  Swedes  do  beautiful  work.  Why  don’t  we 
have  a class  for  international  embroidery?  ” laughed 
Dorothy.  “ I think  Mother  would  like  to  learn  the 
Russian;  she’s  crazy  about  Russian  music  and  every- 
thing Russian.” 


148  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ We’ll  ask  Mother  and  Grandmother,  too,  and 
perhaps  the  Miss  Clarks  would  come  and  the  women 
could  charge  a fee  and  make  a little  money  teaching 
us  and  be  amused  themselves.” 

“ I dare  say  it  will  do  the  others  good  as  well  as 
the  little  Italian.  You’ve  hit  on  something  that  will 
benefit  all  of  them  while  you  were  trying  to  help  Mrs. 
Paterno,”  surmised  Mr.  Emerson.  “ What  I came 
over  here  this  morning  to  see  you  about  was  this,”  he 
went  on  in  a business-like  tone  that  made  them  look 
at  him  attentively.  “ Grandmother  and  I think  that 
Mrs.  Paterno  has  been  a trifle  too  exciting  for  you 
young  people  the  last  few  days.  We  think  you  need 
a change  of  thought  as  well  as  that  young  woman 
herself.” 

They  all  sat  and  waited  for  what  was  coming,  quite 
unable  to  guess  what  proposition  he  was  going  to 
make. 

“ Helen  and  Roger  are  somewhat  older  and  stand 
such  upheavals  a little  better  than  you  girls,  so  my 
plan  doesn’t  include  them.” 

“ Just  us  three?  ” asked  Ethel  Brown. 

“ Just  you  three.  Here’s  my  scheme;  see  if  you 
like  it.  I have  to  go  over  to  Boston  to-morrow  on  a 
matter  of  business  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would 
be  a pleasant  sail  on  the  Sound  and  that  you’d  be  in- 
terested in  seeing  the  city  — ” 

“ O — o!  ” gasped  Dorothyj  “ Cambridge  and 
Longfellow’s  house.” 

“ Concord  and  Lexington ! ” cried  Ethel  Brown. 

“ The  Art  Museum!  ” murmured  Ethel  Blue. 

“ And  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and,  of  course,  the 
Navy  Yard  especially  for  this  daugher  of  a sailor,” 
and  he  nodded  gayly  at  his  granddaughter. 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED  149 


“ Grandmother  will  go,  to  take  you  around  when  I 
have  to  attend  to  my  business,  and  we  can  stay  a day 
or  two  and  come  back  fresh  to  attend  to  Mrs.  Pa- 
terno’s  affairs.  How  does  it  strike  you?  ” 

Without  any  preliminary  conference  the  three 
girls  flung  their  arms  around  his  neck  and  hugged  him 
heartily. 

“ Have  you  talked  about  it  with  Mother  and  Aunt 
Louise?  M asked  Ethel  Brown. 

“ I’m  armed  with  their  permission.” 

“ I guess  we  were  all  worrying  about  Mrs.  Pa- 
terno,”  admitted  Ethel  Blue.  “ This  will  be  the 
strong  grass  seed  that  will  clear  up  our  minds  so  that 
we  can  help  her  better  after  we  come  back.” 

“ I think  you’re  the  most  magnificent  Grandfather 
that  ever  was  born  ! ” exclaimed  Ethel  Brown,  stand- 
ing back  and  gazing  admiringly  at  her  ancestor. 

“ Thank  you,”  returned  Mr.  Emerson,  bowing 
low,  his  hand  on  his  heart.  “ I am  quite  overcome 
by  such  a wholesale  tribute  1 ” 

“ Had  we  better  tell  Mrs.  Schuler  about  the  em- 
broidery class  plan?  ” asked  Dorothy. 

“ Run  up  to  Rose  House  now  and  explain  it  to  her 
and  ask  her  to  talk  to  the  women  about  it  while  you 
are  gone,  and  then  when  you  get  back  she’ll  have  it 
all  ready  to  start,”  Mr.  Emerson  suggested. 

The  next  twenty-four  hours  were  full  of  excite- 
ment. Each  of  the  girls  had  only  a small  handbag 
to  pack,  but  the  selection  of  what  should  go  into 
each  bag  seemed  a matter  of  infinite  importance. 
The  Ethels  filled  their  bags  twice  before  they  were 
satisfied  that  they  had  not  left  out  anything  that 
would  be  wanted,  and  Dorothy  confessed  that  she 
had  first  put  in  too  much  and  then  had  gone  to  the 


i5o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


other  extreme,  and  that  it  had  not  been  until  after 
she  had  had  a consultation  with  her  mother  that  she 
had  decided  on  just  the  number  and  kind  of  garments 
that  she  would  need  for  a two-day  trip  to  the  Hub 
of  the  Universe. 

“Why  is  it  called  that?”  she  asked  of  Ethel 
Brown. 

“ I asked  Mother  and  she  said  that  people  from 
New  York  and  other  cities  used  to  say  that  Boston- 
ians thought  that  their  town  was  the  centre  of  civ- 
ilization. So  they  guyed  it  by  calling  it  the  ‘ Hub.’  ” 
“ I’ve  heard  it  called  the  ‘ Athens  of  America,’  ” 
said  Ethel  Blue. 

“ That  was  when  there  was  such  a crop  of  great 
writers  there  all  at  about  the  same  time,”  explained 
Roger,  “ Longfellow  and  Lowell  and  Whittier  and 
Emerson  and  all  those  men.  Boston  thought  a great 
deal  of  herself  then  — ” 

“ I should  think  she  had  a right  to.” 

“ She  did ; but  the  rest  of  the  U.  S.  A.  liked  to  tease 
her  about  being  the  literary  centre  of  America,  just 
as  Athens  in  the  time  of  Pericles  was  the  intellectual 
centre  of  Greece.” 

“ Where  is  the  literary  centre  now?  ” 

“ Who  knows?  Gone  westward  like  the  frontier 
and  the  Star  of  Empire.  Indiana  claims  that  she  has 
made  many  writers  famous.  Chicago  says  that  not 
much  of  anything  worth  while  is  written  east  of  the 
Chicago  River.  It’s  one  of  those  things  ‘ no  feller 
can  tell.’  ” 

“ I wish  you  were  going,  too,  Roger,”  said  Ethel 
Brown.  “ You’d  enjoy  it  so  much.” 

“ Helen  would,  too,  and  she  knows  a lot  about 
the  early  history  of  Boston.  But  we’ll  have  our 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED  15 1 


chance  some  other  time  and  we’re  awfully  glad  you 
kids  are  going  now.” 

Roger  and  Helen  went  into  New  York  with  the 
travellers  and  Della  and  Margaret  were  on  the  pier 
to  see  the  steamer  leave. 

“ We  haven’t  been  doing  this  since  we  all  went 
to  the  French  Line  Pier  to  see  Mademoiselle  off,” 
recalled  Ethel  Blue. 

“ And  James  got  kissed  by  the  enthusiastic  French- 
woman! I never  shall  get  over  that!”  and  Tom 
roared  as  freshly  as  if  he  had  not  shouted  over  it  a 
score  of  times  before. 

It  was  a glorious  afternoon  and  the  boat  slipped 
around  the  end  of  the  Battery  while  the  westering 
sun  was  still  shining  brilliantly  on  the  water,  touch- 
ing it  with  sparkles  on  the  tip  of  each  tiny  wave. 
The  Statue  of  Liberty,  with  the  sun  behind  it,  tow- 
ered darkly  against  the  gold.  The  huge  buildings  of 
the  lower  city  stretched  skywards,  the  new  Equitable, 
the  latest  addition  to  the  mammoth  group,  shutting 
off  almost  entirely  the  view  of  the  Singer  Tower 
from  the  harbor,  just  as  the  Woolworth  Tower  hides 
it  from  observers  on  the  north. 

“ The  illumination  of  the  Singer  Tower  is  one  of 
the  prettiest  sights  I ever  saw,”  said  Grandfather 
Emerson.  “ The  Equitable  and  the  Woolworth 
will  have  to  work  hard  to  give  us  something  to  re- 
place it.” 

“ Della  said  the  other  day  that  once  in  a while 
the  Woolworth  Tower  was  superbly  lighted,”  said 
Ethel  Blue.  “ It  was  as  delicate  as  the  Singer  and 
there  was  more  of  it  — a pillar  of  golden  mist,  she 
called  it.” 

“ Here’s  the  Metropolitan  Tower  coming  into 


152  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


view  now.  That  doesn’t  attempt  any  special  light- 
ing beyond  the  clock  and  the  pineapple  on  the  very 
top.” 

“ It’s  a wonderfully  graceful  piece  of  architect- 
ure,” said  Mrs.  Emerson,  “ and  it’s  surprising  how  it 
stands  out  when  you  see  it  from  a distance.  I was 
driving  over  Brooklyn  Bridge  the  other  day  and  I 
was  amazed  at  its  height  above  the  buildings  around 
it.” 

“ There’s  nothing  near  it  to  crowd  it,  and  noth- 
ing very  tall  between  it  and  the  East  River.” 

Between  them  Grandfather  and  Grandmother  Em- 
erson were  able  to  point  out  nearly  all  of  the  sights 
of  the  East  River  — several  parks  and  playgrounds, 
Bellevue  Hospital,  the  Vanderbilt  model  tenements 
for  people  threatened  with  tuberculosis,  the  Junior 
League  Hotel  for  self-supporting  women,  the  old 
dwelling  where  Dorothy’s  friend,  the  “ box  furniture 
lady,”  had  established  a school  to  teach  the  folk  of 
the  neighborhood  how  to  use  tools  for  the  advan- 
tage of  their  house-furnishings. 

“ Just  here,  where  we’re  sailing  now,  there  used 
to  be  a reef.  It  made  the  channel  so  narrow  that 
the  current  was  very  swift  through  it  and  the  passage 
for  ships  was  dangerous.” 

“ Was  that  Hell  Gate?  ” asked  Mrs.  Emerson. 

“ The  name  describes  the  feeling  of  the  sailors 
toward  it.  The  reef  was  blown  up  a few  years  ago 
and  now  you  see  it  is  comparatively  peaceful  here.” 
Along  the  shores  of  the  Bronx  the  scene  became 
more  and  more  rural  until  cows  standing  to  be  milked 
and  hens  flapping  sleepily  up  on  to  their  roosts  be- 
came the  rule  and  not  the  exception.  The  girls 
were  sorry  to  go  down  to  dinner  and  it  was  only 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED  153 


when  the  view  of  the  land  grew  less  interesting  and 
the  passing  steamers  and  the  tugs  towing  long  lines 
of  barges  became  fewer  that  they  were  willing  to 
leave  the  deck  even  to  satisfy  their  hunger. 

The  interior  of  the  boat  made  them  ask  a hun- 
dred questions,  for  it  was  unlike  either  the  battleship 
Florida  which  the  Ethels  had  gone  over  when  Lieu- 
tenant Morton  was  attached  to  it,  or  the  steamer  on 
which  Mademoiselle  Millerand  had  sailed,  or  the 
Washington  Irving  on  the  Hudson.  This  floating 
night  hotel  needed  as  many  staterooms  as  could  be 
built  in,  and  her  sides  were  lined  by  windows  of  a 
size  sufficient  to  let  in  a goodly  amount  of  fresh  air. 
The  rooms  were  larger  than  those  on  the  Atlantic 
liner,  and  the  berths  wider.  The  centre  of  the  boat 
was  made  into  “ sitting  rooms,”  as  Dorothy  called 
them,  one  above  another,  the  upper  extending  like  a 
gallery  around  an  opening  through  which  the  lower 
could  be  seen.  The  dining  room  was  large  and  the 
Emerson  party  secured  a table  to  itself  and  ate  a 
hearty  meal. 

“ The  salt  air  sharpens  one’s  appetite,”  murmured 
Mrs.  Emerson. 

“ Don’t  apologize,  Mother,”  laughed  her  hus- 
band. 

“ I’m  not  apologizing;  I’m  explaining,”  replied 
his  wife  briskly. 

On  the  deck  again,  they  found  that  the  moon  had 
risen  and  was  casting  its  cool  light  across  the  water. 
They  were  out  in  Long  Island  Sound  now,  the  bulk 
of  the  Island  looming  on  the  right,  and  the  Connecti- 
cut coast  line  showing  its  glimmering  lights  on  the 
left.  The  air  was  soft  yet  fresh  and  salty,  and  long 
after  they  were  almost  too  sleepy  to  keep  awake, 


154  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

the  girls  were  glad  to  stay  up,  because  they  were  en- 
joying the  new  experience  so  intensely. 

They  found  their  stateroom  entirely  comfortable. 
The  Ethels  slept  in  the  wide  lower  berth  and  Doro- 
thy climbed  to  the  upper. 

The  boat  was  one  of  those  which  steams  around 
Cape  Cod  instead  of  stopping  at  Fall  River,  Rhode 
Island,  and  sending  its  passengers  to  Boston  by  train. 
Early  morning  found  them  all  on  deck  watching  the 
waters  of  Massachusetts  Bay  and  trying  to  place  on 
a map  that  Mr.  Emerson  produced  from  his  pocket 
the  towns  whose  church  spires  they  could  see  point- 
ing skyward  far  off  on  their  left.  Twin  lighthouses 
ffiey  decided,  marked  Gurnet  Point,  the  entrance  to 
Plymouth  Bay,  and  they  strained  their  eyes  to  see 
the  town  that  was  the  oldest  settlement  in  Massa- 
chusetts, and  imagined  they  were  watching  the  bulky 
little  Mayflower  making  her  way  landward  between 
the  headlands. 

Farther  along  was  Marshfield,  the  home  of  Daniel 
Webster,  the  orator.  Still  farther  Minot’s  Ledge 
Light  rose  from  the  water,  the  rocks  on  which  it  was 
built  being  entirely  covered  at  the  stage  of  the  tide. 
Grandmother  recalled  that  when  she  was  a little  girl 
she  had  gone  up  into  the  light,  sitting  in  her  mother’s 
lap  in  an  armchair  that  whirled  and  struck  the  side 
of  the  tower  as  it  was  drawn  up  from  the  small  boat 
in  which  they  had  come  out  from  the  shore. 

When  they  were  making  their  way  among  the 
small  islands  of  the  harbor  Grandfather  in  his  turn 
remembered  that  when  he  was  a boy  he  had  visited  a 
cousin  in  Boston.  The  two  boys  had  gone  to  the 
wharves  to  look  down  the  harbor  and  had  seen  some 
elm  trees  on  one  of  the  islands  waving  their  branches 


A NEW  KIND  OF  GRASS  SEED  155 


against  the  sky.  The  slender  trees  with  their  foliage 
increasing  toward  the  top  made  them  think  of  the 
pictures  of  palm  trees  in  their  geographies,  and  they 
went  home  and  told  their  parents  that  they  had  seen 
the  coast  of  Africa. 

Two  or  three  forts  added  a picturesque  note  to  the 
crowded  harbor,  whose  ships  and  steamers  were 
threading  their  way  among  the  islands,  some  turn- 
ing southward  into  Dorchester  Bay  and  others  north- 
ward toward  Winthrop.  Straight  ahead  rose  the 
city  topped  by  the  gilded  dome  of  the  State  House. 

“ How  it  has  changed  since  I last  came  in  by 
steamer ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Emerson.  “ Then  there 
were  not  many  tall  buildings  along  the  water  front 
and  the  town  seemed  to  slope  upward  to  a climax 
in  the  dome.  It’s  not  so  regular  now.” 

The  girls  were  divided  as  to  whether  they  thought 
it  more  beautiful  than  New  York  harbor.  Ethel 
Blue  and  Dorothy  thought  it  more  picturesque,  but 
Ethel  Brown  liked  the  grand  sweep  of  the  Hudson 
and  the  East  River  uniting  at  the  Battery  and  plung- 
ing on  out  to  sea  through  the  Staten  Island  Narrows. 

Mr.  Emerson  convoyed  his  party  to  a hotel  on 
Copley  Square  and  left  them  there  while  he  went 
out  at  once  to  meet  his  business  friends. 

“ Take  the  girls  to  the  Public  Library  and  to 
Trinity  Church  this  morning,”  he  advised  his  wife, 
“ and  if  I finish  early  this  afternoon  I’ll  go  with  you 
to  Cambridge.” 

Dorothy  gave  a little  shriek  of  delight. 

“ How  far  away  Rosemont  seems,  and  poor  Mrs. 
Paterno  with  her  troubles,”  she  said  an  hour  later 
as  they  stood  before  Sargent’s  panel  of  the  Prophets 
in  the  Public  Library. 


CHAPTER  XII 


LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD 


BBEY’S  painted  story  of  the  Holy  Grail  held 


Ethel  Blue  enthralled.  Mrs.  Emerson  and 
Ethel  Brown  were  most  interested  in  the  misty  color- 
ing of  the  French  artist,  Puvis  de  Chavannes,  in  the 
entrance  hall  of  the  Library,  the  delicate  hues  glim- 
mering faintly  against  the  yellow  marble  sheathing  of 
the  stairs. 

“ It’s  as  unlike  the  New  York  Library’s  wide 
spaces  as  New  York  is  unlike  Boston,”  commented 
Mrs.  Emerson,  “ but  one  is  quite  as  handsome  as 
the  other.” 

From  the  Library  they  went  across  the  square  to 
the  church  built  by  a famous  architect  and  consecrated 
by  the  loving  service  of  one  of  the  greatest-hearted 
of  America’s  clergymen  — Phillips  Brooks.  They 
were  all  impressed  by  the  beauty  of  its  dusky  color- 
ing and  the  richness  of  its  varied  windows.  Ethel 
Blue,  who  had  received  a Phillips  Brooks  calendar 
for  Christmas,  was  especially  impressed  at  seeing  the 
church  to  which  the  great  preacher  had  drawn  young 
and  old  by  his  eloquence  and  his  gift  of  himself  to 
all  who  needed.  His  figure  beneath  a canopy  just 
outside  the  building,  seeming  to  draw  inspiration 
from  the  Christ  behind  him,  held  them  silent  before 
it. 


Grandfather  Emerson  was  a Harvard  graduate,  so 

156 


LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD  157 


that  a return  to  Cambridge  was  going  home  to  him. 
He  led  the  girls  from  one  building  to  another,  bub- 
bling over  with  reminiscences  of  his  college  years. 
From  the  new  “ Gold  Coast  ” dormitories  where  the 
rich  young  men  live  he  turned  away,  uninterested, 
and  showed  them  instead  the  plain  old  brick  halls 
that  have  sheltered  the  young  manhood  of  some  of 
the  strongest  men  that  America  has  produced. 

“ Here  is  where  I nearly  had  my  clothes  torn  off 
my  back  on  Class  Day,”  he  exclaimed  exultantly. 
“ The  alumni  sat  on  the  ground  around  the  edge  of 
the  little  square  hemmed  in  on  three  sides  by  build- 
ings. Every  now  and  then  a group  of  them  would 
give  the  class  yell  or  would  recognize  an  old  friend 
and  spell  his  name  or  would  cheer  some  member  of 
the  faculty  kept  young  by  the  affection  of  generation 
after  generation  of  boys.” 

“ Where  were  you  sitting?  ” 

“ I was  standing,  but  I kept  my  eye  on  the  spot 
where  I knew  your  grandmother  was.  We  were  en- 
gaged. Do  you  remember,  you  wore  a pink  dress 
that  day?  ” 

He  patted  his  wife’s  hand  absent-mindedly,  and 
she  smiled  at  him,  dim-eyed. 

“ Helen  has  one  that  reminds  me  of  it.  Your 
grandfather  was  a dreadful  looking  young  man  when 
he  came  in  to  the  tree  exercises;  ” she  took  up  the 
story.  “ He  had  been  going  about  with  my  mother 
and  me  and  I was  as  proud  as  possible  of  my  hand- 
some escort.  It  was  something  of  a blow  to  have 
him  appear  dressed  like  a tramp.” 

“ What  was  the  reason?  ” 

“ The  graduates  had  to  climb  a tree  and  bring 
down  some  flowers  that  were  tied  in  a great  wreath 


158  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


about  the  trunk  about  eight  or  ten  feet  above  the 
ground.  It  was  a tremendous  scramble  that  would 
have  meant  destruction  to  good  clothes.” 

“ I succeeded  in  getting  a posy  or  two  for  you, 
didn’t  I?” 

“ I never  shall  forget  how  excited  I was  when  you 
came  over  and  gave  them  to  me.  It  was  really  more 
thrilling  than  when  they  sang  the  Ode  and  I knew 
that  you  had  written  it ! ” 

The  two  old  people  were  quite  lost  to  the  present 
in  the  remembrances  of  the  past.  The  girls  had  to 
recall  them  by  questions. 

“ Where  is  the  library?  ” 

“ Can  we  see  the  glass  flowers?  ” 

“ Is  that  Memorial  Hall  with  the  tower?  ” 

They  all  chattered  at  once,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Emerson  never  really  touched  the  twentieth  century 
again  all  the  afternoon  but  walked  about  with  faintly 
reminiscent  smiles  upon  their  lips.  Neither  the  aged 
limbs  of  the  elm  beneath  which  Washington  reviewed 
his  troops,  nor  the  buildings  of  Radcliffe  College,  to 
which  Ethel  Brown  hoped  to  go  after  she  left  the 
high  school,  nor  the  grounds  of  Elmwood  beneath 
whose  trees  the  poet  Lowell  had  walked  and  mused, 
nor  the  spot  where  the  house  of  Holmes,  the  poet, 
had  stood,  roused  them  from  the  memories.  It  was 
only  when  Dorothy  literally  pranced  with  joy  at  ac- 
tually setting  her  foot  on  the  doorstep  trodden  by 
Longfellow  that  they  realized  that  the  old  happiness 
had  taken  on  a new  form. 

“ O,  just  think  that  all  these  wonderful  people 
walked  along  these  streets  just  like  any  other  boys,” 
cried  Ethel  Blue  as  they  passed  along  beneath  the 
elms  that  make  Cambridge  beautiful.  “ Holmes 


LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD  159 


and  Longfellow  didn’t  look  any  different  from  any 
young  men,  any  different  from  Roger  or  Tom  or 
James.  Isn’t  it  just  like  a beautiful  butterfly  coming 
out  of  an  ugly  cocoon ! ” 

“ Roger  and  Tom  and  James  representing  the 
ugly  cocoons?”  asked  Mr.  Emerson  laughingly. 
“ You  aren’t  very  polite  to  your  family  and  friends ! ” 
The  girls  laughed,  too,  and  returned  to  the  hotel 
in  high  good  humor  over  the  success  of  their  after- 
noon of  exploration. 

At  ten  o’clock  the  next  morning  they  started  for 
Lexington  and  Concord.  The  first  part  of  the  trip 
was  over  the  route  by  which  they  had  reached  Cam- 
bridge the  day  before,  but,  once  the  University  build- 
ings were  left  behind,  the  road  was  new  to  them  as 
it  unfolded  toward  Arlington. 

“ We’re  going  now  over  exactly  the  route  that  the 
British  soldiers  followed  when  they  marched  out  to 
Lexington  during  the  night  of  the  18th  of  April, 
1775,”  Mr.  Emerson  informed  them,  and  the 
chauffeur  pointed  out  tablet  after  tablet  erected  to 
mark  the  spot  where  some  event  of  the  march  took 
place. 

“ I don’t  much  like  the  inscriptions  on  these 
tablets,”  remarked  Ethel  Brown.  “ Almost  every 
one  of  them  tells  of  the  killing  or  capture  of  some 
loyalist  farmer  by  the  British.” 

“ You  bloodthirsty  little  thing!  Do  you  want 
them  to  record  the  killing  of  the  British?  ” 

“ If  there  had  to  be  killing  it’s  natural  I should 
want  it  to  be  the  enemy  and  not  the  Americans.” 

“ Isn’t  that  just  what  war  does  to  all  of  us ! ” ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Emerson.  “ We  should  shudder  at 
the  bare  idea  of  wishing  the  murder  of  a human  be- 


i6o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


ing;  we  should  be  shocked  at  the  idea’s  entering  our 
minds.  Yet  here  is  this  child  wishing  that  a British 
soldier  had  been  killed  where  the  stone  stands.” 

“ O,  Grandmother,  I — I’d  rather  nobody  was 
killed,”  cried  Ethel  Brown,  wincing  under  the  ac- 
cusation. 

“ War  doesn’t  seem  actual  to  us  unless  we’ve 
really  seen  something  of  it  or  have  had  it  brought 
home  to  us  in  the  thousand  ways  it  is  being  done  by 
the  present  war.” 

“ Helen  believes  that  we  all  think  too  much  about 
war  all  the  time,”  said  Dorothy. 

“ I think  we  do,”  agreed  Mr.  Emerson.  “ If  we 
thought  as  much  and  as  hard  about  peace  as  we  do 
about  war  I believe  we  would  have  peace  and  that 
wars  would  cease  from  off  the  earth.” 

“ Let’s  try  it,”  suggested  Dorothy.  “ Every  little 
bit  helps.  Is  this  Lexington?”  she  questioned  ex- 
citedly as  the  automobile  drew  alongside  of  a typical 
New  England  village  green.  Three  of  the  houses 
which  looked  on  it  had  stood  there  on  the  day  of  the 
battle. 

Near  the  road  a boulder  carved  with  musket  and 
powder  horn  marked  the  thin  line  of  American  Min- 
ute Men,  only  sixty  or  seventy  strong,  who  had  been 
warned  by  Paul  Revere  of  the  approach  of  the 
British  and  were  drawn  up  here  at  four  o’clock  in  the 
imorning  to  await  their  coming.  Their  brave  young 
captain,  Parker,  instructed  them  in  the  words  cut 
into  the  stone : “ Stand  your  ground ; don’t  fire  unless 
fired  upon;  but  if  they  mean  to  have  a war,  let  it 
begin  here.” 

“ O,  it  does  excite  you,  even  if  you  do  believe  in 
peace ! ” confessed  Dorothy,  clasping  her  hands. 


LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD  x6i 


44  Major  Pitcairn  was  the  leader  of  the  British,” 
Mr.  Emerson  explained.  44  He  had  about  seven  or 
eight  hundred  men.  When  they  came  to  this  spot 
and  found  the  Americans  ready  for  them  he  shouted 
4 Ye  villains,  ye  rebels,  disperse!  Why  don’t  ye  lay 
down  your  arms?  ’ ” 

44  They  didn’t  disperse;  not  a bit!  ” glowed  Ethel 
Brown. 

44  The  British  fired  on  them  and  killed  eight  Min- 
ute Men  and  wounded  ten.  It  was  the  first  blood 
shed  in  the  Revolution.  Here  is  what  Dr.  Holmes 
says  about  it : — 

“ On  the  smooth  green  where  the  fresh  leaf  is  springing 
Calmly  the  first-born  of  glory  have  met; 

Hark!  the  death-volley  around  them  is  ringing! 

Look ! with  their  life-blood  the  young  grass  is  wet ! 

Faint  is  the  feeble  breath, 

Murmuring  low  in  death, 

4 Tell  to  our  sons  how  their  fathers  have  died ; ’ 

Nerveless  the  iron  hand, 

Raised  for  its  native  land, 

Lies  by  the  weapon  that  gleams  at  its  side. 

44  Over  the  hillsides  the  wild  knell  is  tolling, 

From  their  far  hamlets  the  yeomanry  come, 

As  through  the  storm-clouds  the  thunder-burst  rolling, 
Circles  the  beat  of  the  mustering  drum. 

Fast  on  the  soldiers’  path 
Darken  the  waves  of  wrath, 

Long  have  they  gathered  and  loud  shall  they  fall; 

Red  glares  the  musket’s  flash, 

Sharp  rings  the  rifle’s  crash, 

Blazing  and  clanging  from  thicket  and  wall.” 

The  roadside  house  where  Hancock  and  Adams 
were  sleeping  on  the  night  of  the  i8th  and  where 

58 


1 62  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


they  were  awakened  by  Paul  Revere,  held  Infinite  in- 
terest for  the  girls  in  its  old  furnishings  and  its  quaint 
arrangements. 

On  they  went  to  Concord  on  the  trail  of  the  British 
regulars  who  had  heard  that  the  Continentals  had 
military  stores  hidden  in  that  town  and  who  were  on 
their  way  to  destroy  them. 

“ Weren’t  there  more  than  sixty  or  seventy  Minute 
Men  at  Concord?  ” inquired  Ethel  Blue. 

“ Between  four  and  five  hundred  had  assembled 
from  the  surrounding  farms.  They  gathered  here 
at  the  bridge  in  Concord,”  explained  Grandfather  as 
the  car  stopped  before  a small  rustic  bridge.  “ The 
regulars  were  on  one  side  of  the  stream  and  the 
Minute  Men  on  the  other.  That’s  the  way  the 
Americans  looked,”  and  he  waved  his  hand  toward 
French’s  spirited  statue  of  the  “ Minute  Man.” 

The  girls  stared  at  him  as  if  he  were  alive  and 
the  scene  were  peopled  with  his  companions. 

“ Didn’t  Emerson  write  a ‘ Hymn  ’ that  was  sung 
when  an  older  monument  than  this  was  completed? 
I learned  it  once.  Let  see,”  said  Mrs.  Emerson 
thoughtfully.  “ I recall  it  now.” 

“ By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 

Their  flag  to  April’s  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

“ The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 

And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

“ On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a votive-stone; 


LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD  163 


That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

“ Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  or  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee.” 

“ The  British  fired  and  Captain  Davis  of  the 
Americans  fell.”  Mr.  Emerson  continued  his  his- 
torical story.  “ Then  the  Americans  returned  the 
fire  and  wounded  several  of  the  regulars.  They  be- 
gan to  retreat  toward  Boston,  and  a stormy  time 
they  had  of  it.” 

“ Did  they  get  ‘ sniped  ’ ? ” 

“ Every  tree  must  have  seemed  to  them  to  hide  a 
sharpshooter,”  smiled  Grandfather.  “ The  farmers 
shot  from  behind  stone  walls  and  bushes  and  fences. 
An  English  officer  wrote  afterward  that  men  seemed 
to  drop  from  the  clouds  and  that  his  troops  were  so 
tired  that  their  tongues  hung  out  of  their  mouths  like 
dogs.  In  the  Pennsylvania  Evening  Post  of  March 
30,  177 6,  there  were  some  verses  supposed  to  be 
spoken  by  one  of  the  regulars. 

“ For  fifteen  miles  they  follow’d  and  pelted  us,  we  scarce  had 
time  to  pull  a trigger! 

But  did  you  ever  know  a retreat  performed  with  more  vigor? 
For  we  did  it  in  two  hours,  which  saved  us  from  perdition; 
’Twas  not  in  going  out , but  in  returning,  consisted  our 
EXPEDITION.” 

“ When  they  came  near  Boston,”  continued  Mr. 
Emerson  after  the  laughter  had  ceased,  “ a company 
of  regulars  marched  out  to  meet  them  and  made  a 
hollow  square  into  which  they  ran  for  shelter.” 


1 64  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ That  does  make  it  seem  near  and  horrible,” 
Ethel  Brown  said  and  they  all  shivered  a little  as 
they  looked  once  more  at  the  vigilant  Minute  Man 
alert  to  meet  his  country’s  foes. 

“ Now,  where  did  Miss  Alcott  live?  ” asked  Ethel 
Blue,  and  Mr.  Emerson  directed  the  chauffeur  to 
turn  the  car  toward  that  part  of  the  little  town  to 
which  literary  pilgrims  bend  their  steps. 

“ Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  lived  in  this  big,  com- 
fortable house  with  the  cheerful  yard  around  it,”  said 
Mrs.  Emerson.  “ Over  there  is  the  School  of  Philos- 
ophy where  Louisa  Alcott’s  father  explained  his  plan 
of  living  and  beyond  is  Orchard  House  where  the 
‘ Little  Women  ’ of  the  story  played  and  suffered.” 
“ ‘ Jo  ’ was  Miss  Alcott  herself,  wasn’t  she?  Just 
think,  we’re  seeing  the  house  she  really  lived  in ! ” 
and  all  the  girls  gazed  at  it  open-mouthed  until  Mrs. 
Emerson  told  them  that  they  were  passing  the  house 
where  Hawthorne  wrote  “ Tanglewood  Tales,” 
when  they  fell  into  a fresh  trance  of  wonder.  The 
ground  on  which  the  first  Concord  grapes  were  grown 
did  not  arouse  a fraction  of  this  enthusiasm. 

“ I truly  believe  this  ride  we’ve  taken  to-day  must 
be  the  most  interesting  in  America ! ” exclaimed 
Ethel  Blue  when  the  girls  were  back  at  the  hotel 
and  were  talking  over  the  experience  of  the  last  few 
hours. 

“ It  has  more  history  and  literature  to  the  square 
inch  than  any  spot  I ever  heard  of  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  I — I’m  more  excited  than  I was 
when  wre  shook  hands  with  the  President  last  winter.” 
“ That’s  the  way  I feel,  too,”  agreed  Ethel  Brown. 
“ I wonder  why  it  is,  for  they  say  that  Mr.  Wilson 


LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD  165 

is  one  of  the  greatest  presidents  the  country  ever  has 
had.” 

“ I don’t  know  why  it  is  unless  it’s  because  you  feel 
that  these  men  had  something  to  do  with  building  up 
the  brain  of  the  country;  and  then  we  seemed  to  get 
in  touch  with  such  a lot  of  them  at  once.” 

“ I never  shall  get  over  seeing  the  house  that  the 
author  of  ‘ Miles  Standish  ’ and  ‘ Evangeline  ’ and 
‘ The  Children’s  Hour  ’ lived  in,”  sighed  Dorothy 
happily.  “ It’s  almost  more  than  I can  stand.” 

“ Lowell  and  Emerson  and  Holmes  and  Longfel- 
low were  still  alive  when  I was  a student  at  Cam- 
bridge,” said  Grandfather  Emerson. 

“ And  you  saw  them  ? ” 

“ Very  often.” 

“ Why  didn’t  you  tell  us  this  morning?  ” 

“ You  seemed  to  have  about  all  the  ecstasy  you 
could  hold.  It  didn’t  occur  to  me  that  my  experi- 
ences would  add  to  it.” 

“ You’ve  seen  them  all,”  and  the  three  girls  gazed 
on  the  old  gentleman  as  if  he  were  shining  with  re- 
flected glory. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


TROLLEYING 

THE  climb  up  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  luncheon 
with  a friend  of  Lieutenant  Morton’s  at  the 
Charlestown  Navy  Yard  and  the  afternoon  spent  at 
the  old  State  House,  the  “ new  ” State  House, 
Faneuil  Hall,  the  church  where  the  lantern  was  hung 
for  Paul  Revere,  and  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts  all 
were  uninteresting  compared  with  the  great  Lexing- 
ton and  Concord  trip. 

The  monument,  which  they  found  to  be  much  like 
the  Washington  Monument  on  a small  scale,  served 
to  revive  in  their  memories  the  tale  of  the  battle  of 
Bunker  Hill  when  the  farmer  Americans  were  or- 
dered not  to  fire  “ until  you  see  the  whites  of  their 
eyes  ” as  the  British  regulars  came  up  the  hill  to 
attack  them,  and  to  give  General  Joseph  Warren  his 
death  wound. 

The  Navy  Yard  had  no  great  novelty  for  the 
Ethels  for  many  of  their  younger  years  had  been 
spent  in  one  or  another  of  Uncle  Sam’s  Navy  Yards, 
but  Dorothy  was  greatly  interested  in  all  that  she 
saw  in  spite  of  her  strong  feeling  for  peace,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Emerson  and  the  Ethels  were  glad  to  meet 
again  Captain  and  Mrs.  Thurston  whom  the  Mor- 
tons had  known  at  League  Island  many  years  before 
when  the  children  were  small. 

The  old  State  House  and  Faneuil  Hall  and  the 
North  Church  were  filled  by  the  historical  person- 

166 


TROLLEYING 


167 


ages  whom  Mr.  Emerson  brought  to  life  for  them. 
The  codfish  over  the  Speaker’s  desk  was  their  chief 
interest  in  the  “ new  ” State  House. 

As  for  the  Art  Museum,  they  wandered  delight- 
edly from  one  room  to  another,  but  went  away  with  a 
sensation  of  having  seen  too  much  that  was  almost  as 
uncomfortable  as  that  of  having  eaten  too  much. 

“ I should  like  to  come  here  or  to  go  to  the  Metro- 
politan in  New  Y ork  with  some  one  who  could  tell 
me  about  every  picture  or  every  object  in  just  one 
room  and  stay  there  for  an  hour  and  then  go  away 
and  think  about  it,”  said  Ethel  Blue. 

“ We  will  do  that  some  day  at  the  Metropolitan,” 
said  Mrs.  Emerson.  “ If  the  Club  would  like  to  go 
in  a body  some  day  we  can  get  one  of  the  guides  who 
do  just  what  you  describe.  We  can  tell  her  the  sort 
of  thing  we  want  to  see  — classical  statuary  or  Eng- 
lish artists  or  the  Morgan  collection  — and  have  it 
all  shown  to  us  from  the  standpoint  of  the  expert 
critic.  Or  we  can  put  ourselves  in  the  hands  of  the 
guide  and  say  that  we’d  like  to  see  the  ten  exhibits 
that  the  Museum  looks  upon  as  the  choicest.” 

“ Either  way  would  be  wonderful ! ” beamed  Ethel 
Blue,  and  the  three  girls  promised  themselves  the 
delight  of  reporting  Mrs.  Emerson’s  offer  to  the 
Club  at  its  next  meeting. 

The  homeward  trip  was  made  by  a route  quite 
different  from  the  one  by  which  the  party  reached 
Boston.  Grandfather  proposed  it  at  breakfast  on 
the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  they  had  intended 
to  leave  in  the  afternoon. 

“ Are  you  people  very  keen  on  this  drive  through 
the  Park  System  to-day?  ” he  asked. 

The  girls  did  not  know  what  to  say,  but  Mrs. 


1 68  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


Emerson  scented  a new  idea  and  replied  “ not  if 
you  have  something  to  suggest  that  we’d  like  better.” 

“ How  would  you  like  to  trolley  back  to  New 
York?” 

“ Trolley  back  to  New  York!  ” repeated  the  girls 
with  little  screeches  of  joy.  “ All  the  way  by 
trolley?  How  long  will  it  take?  I never  heard  of 
anything  so  delightful  in  all  my  life ! ” 

After  such  a quick  and  satisfactory  response  Mr. 
Emerson  did  not  need  to  lay  his  plan  before  them  in 
any  further  detail. 

“ I see  you’re  ‘ game,’  as  Roger  would  say,  for 
anything,  so  we’ll  go  that  way  if  Mother  agrees.” 

Mrs.  Emerson  did  agree  and  even  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  she  had  wanted  to  do  that  very  thing  for 
a long  time. 

“ It’s  lucky  Grandfather  insisted  that  we  shouldn’t 
bring  anything  but  small  handbags,”  said  Ethel 
Brown.  “ These  little  things  we  have  won’t  be  any 
trouble  at  all,  no  matter  how  many  times  we  have  to 
change.” 

They  started  in  heavy  inter-urban  cars  which  rode 
as  solidly  as  railroad  cars  and  enabled  them  to  be 
but  very  little  tired  at  the  end  of  the  first  “ leg  ” of 
the  journey.  The  wide  windows  permitted  views  of 
the  country  and  the  girls  ran  from  one  side  to  the 
other  of  the  closed  cars,  so  that  they  should  not  miss 
anything  of  interest,  and  sat  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
open  cars  into  which  they  changed  later,  so  that 
they  might  have  no  one  in  front  of  them  to  obstruct 
their  view. 

They  went  out  of  the  city  straight  westward, 
through  Brookline,  which  persists  in  not  becoming  a 
part  of  Boston  although  it  is  almost  surrounded  by 


TROLLEYING 


169 


the  city, — through  Chestnut  Hill,  where  is  one  of 
the  reservoirs  from  which  the  city  is  supplied;  past 
Wellesley,  where  they  saw  the  college  buildings  rising 
among  the  trees  on  the  left. 

“ There  you  have  a contrast  with  Radcliffe,”  Mrs. 
Emerson  suggested.  “ Wellesley  is  in  the  real  coun- 
try. Does  the  sight  of  it  shake  your  inclination  to- 
ward the  Cambridge  college?  ” 

The  girls  shook  their  heads,  but  they  gazed  back 
at  the  tall  trees  through  which  the  red  bricks  showed 
happily  and  the  Ethels  thought  they’d  like  to  look  it 
over  pretty  thoroughly  before  they  made  their  final 
decision.  They  remembered,  too,  that  there  lived 
and  taught  Katharine  Bates  who  wrote  “ America 
the  Beautiful  ” which  they  sang  every  day  in  school, 
and  they  wished  that  they  might  stop  long  enough 
to  call  on  her  and  tell  her  how  much  they  loved  her 
poem. 

Beyond  Wellesley  they  passed  Natick,  famous  for 
its  shoes  and  its  baseballs  and  as  being  the  home  of 
the  shoemaker  who  was  vice-president  with  Grant. 
At  Framingham,  where  the  state  militia  has  its  sunv 
mer  camp,  the  Ethels  gazed  with  interest  at  the  tents 
that  sheltered  the  amateur  soldiers,  and  felt  sorry  for 
their  having  to  drill  on  a field  so  exposed  to  the 
terrible  heat  of  the  summer  sun. 

Beyond  Framingham  the  car  mounted  through  a 
pretty,  wooded  country,  through  small  towns,  each 
placed  on  a hill  whose  summit  was  topped  by  a 
church,  always  painted  white  with  green  blinds,  and 
always  built  with  a steeple  that  looked  as  if  it  were 
made  for  a handle  whereby  some  giant  might  lift  it. 

“ Do  you  know  the  nickname  that  has  been  given 
to  Worcester?”  Mr.  Emerson  asked  his  party. 


170  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


No  one  did. 

“ * The  Heart  of  the  Commonwealth.’  It  is  in 
the  very  centre  of  the  little  state.  Massachusetts  is 
just  about  a hundred  miles  east  and  west  and  about 
fifty  north  and  south.  It’s  a tiny  place,  you  see,  com- 
pared with  New  York  or  Pennsylvannia.” 

“ But  mammoth  compared  with  Rhode  Island,” 
defended  Ethel  Brown. 

“What  is  there  to  see  in  Worcester?”  asked 
Mrs.  Emerson. 

“ There  are  pretty  drives  all  about  the  city,”  Mr. 
Emerson  returned.  “ There’s  Lake  Quinsigamond, 
which  is  a lovely  body  of  water.  It’s  a manufactur- 
ing town  with  a good  many  large  mills,  and  there  is  a 
state  normal  school  and  a Roman  Catholic  College, 
and  a university  — Clark.” 

“ And  a Union  Station,  sir,”  contributed  the 
motorman,  who  was  listening  to  the  conversation  be- 
hind him.  “ I’m  a Worcester  man  and  we’re  as 
proud  of  that  as  we  are  of  the  insane  asylum. 
They’re  both  worth  looking  at.” 

“ I should  only  care  to  go  into  one  of  them,” 
smiled  Mrs.  Emerson  in  return. 

It  was  a little  early  for  luncheon,  but  Grandfather 
decided  that  it  was  better  to  have  it  at  Worcester 
than  to  risk  getting  something  on  the  road  at  some 
small  place,  and  the  next  large  stop,  Springfield,  was 
a long  way  off.  They  were  refreshed  by  the  meal 
and  they  furnished  their  bags  with  fruit  so  they  might 
have  the  means  of  fortifying  themselves  if  the  pangs 
of  hunger  should  strike  them  before  they  could  reach 
their  dinner  haven. 

“ If  you’ll  look  at  the  map  in  your  trolley  book,” 
directed  Mr.  Emerson  as  they  placed  themselves  in 


TROLLEYING 


171 

the  car  that  was  to  take  them  to  Springfield,  “ you’ll 
see  that  our  road  goes  sharply  southwest  now. 
Springfield  is  almost  on  the  Connecticut  line.” 

“ Didn’t  Longfellow  write  a poem  about  Spring- 
field?  ” asked  Mrs.  Emerson  reflectively. 

“ ‘ The  Arsenal  at  Springfield,  9 ” replied  Dorothy 
promptly.  “ It’s  a great  peace  poem.  Do  you  want 
to  hear  it?  ” 

They  all  did,  so  the  Ethels  established  themselves 
on  the  front  seat  that  faced  backwards,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Emerson  leaned  forward,  and  they  all  listened 
as  the  car  rolled  through  the  hilly  farms  of  Wor- 
cester County. 

“ This  is  the  Arsenal.  From  floor  to  ceiling, 

Like  a huge  organ  rise  the  burnished  arms ; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villages  with  strange  alarms. 

“Ah!  what  a sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary, 

When  the  death-angel  touches  those  swift  keys! 

What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies! 

“ I hear  even  now  the  infinite  fierce  chorus, 

The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan, 

Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us, 

In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

“ On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer, 

Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norseman’s  song, 
And  loud,  amid  the  universal  clamor, 

O’er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

I hear  the  Florentine,  who,  from  his  palace 
Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful  din, 


172  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


And  Aztec  priests  upon  their  teocallis 

Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent-skin; 

“The  tumult  of  each  sacked  and  burning  village; 

The  shout  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns; 

The  soldiers’  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage; 

The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns; 

“ The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched  asunder, 

The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade ; 

And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder, 

The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

“ Is  it,  O man,  with  such  discordant  noises, 

With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these, 

Thou  drownest  Nature’s  sweet  and  kindly  voices, 

And  j arrest  the  celestial  harmonies? 

“ Were  half  the  power  that  fills  the  world  with  terror, 
Were  half  the  wealth  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts, 
Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error, 

There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  or  forts ! 

“ The  warrior’s  name  would  be  a name  abhorred ! 

And  every  nation  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a brother,  on  its  forehead 
Would  wear  forevermore  the  curse  of  Cain! 

“ Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations, 

The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then  cease; 

And  like  a bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  ‘ Peace ! ’ 

“ Peace ! and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 

The  blast  of  War’s  great  organ  shakes  the  skies! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise.” 

“ That  line  about  the  warrior’s  name  being  ab- 
horred sounds  rather  severe,  when  I think  of  my 


TROLLEYING 


173 


father  and  Ethel  Brown’s  being  in  the  Army  and 
Navy,”  remonstrated  Ethel  Blue  gently,  “ but  it  is 
a splendid  cry  for  peace,  isn’t  it?  The  part  about 
the  burning  villages  and  the  famine  is  just  what  we’re 
reading  about  every  day  in  the  papers.  I never 
really  took  it  in  when  I first  read  it  in  Longfellow’s 
poems  a year  or  two  ago.” 

“ This  war  of  to-day  brings  it  all  the  more  clearly 
before  our  imaginations,”  said  Mrs.  Emerson.  “ It 
is  hard  for  any  one  to  think  quietly  about  the  possi- 
bility of  such  hideous  happenings.” 

“ Imagine  a pretty  country  like  this  invaded  by 
soldiers  who  trampled  crops  and  destroyed  houses 
and  killed  human  beings.  It  makes  it  seem  real  to 
imagine  that  we  are  refugeeing  now  and  that  a shell 
comes  along  and  bursts  right  ahead  of  the  car  and 
kills  that  old  man  walking  along  and  wounds  that 
baby  with  a piece  of  shrapnel,  and  sets  fire  to  that 
shed.” 

“ It  would  certainly  be  disconcerting,”  remarked 
Mr.  Emerson  dryly.  “ I’m  daily  more  and  more 
thankful  that  our  wise  president  is  keeping  us  out  of 
the  trouble.” 

The  party  reached  Springfield  at  dusk  and  had 
time  to  take  a walk  after  dinner.  They  admired 
the  elm-bordered  streets  and  the  comfortable  houses, 
and  they  thought  the  Arsenal  looked  extremely 
peaceful  outside  in  spite  of  its  murderous  activities 
within. 

It  was  a deep  sleep  that  visited  them  all  that  night. 
A whole  day  in  the  open  air  with  the  gentle  but  con- 
tinuous exercise  provided  by  the  car  made  them  un- 
conscious of  their  surroundings  almost  as  soon  as 
they  touched  their  pillows. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY 

WITH  a long  and  varied  day  ahead  of  them 
they  were  delighted  to  find  the  morning  clear 
when  they  awoke. 

“ There  are  almost  as  many  points  of  interest  in 
the  Connecticut  River  Valley  as  there  are  on  the 
Concord  and  Lexington  road,”  Mr.  Emerson  told 
the  girls.  “ We’re  going  first  to  Holyoke,  which  is 
one  of  the  largest  paper  manufacturing  towns  in  the 
world.  I have  a little  business  to  do  there  and  while 
I am  seeing  my  man  you  people  can  take  a little 
walk.  Be  sure  you  notice  the  big  dam.  It’s  a thou- 
sand feet  long.  The  Holyoke  water  power  is  very 
unusual.” 

Perhaps  because  they  were  not  experts  on  water 
power  they  were  not  greatly  impressed  by  the  floods 
of  the  Connecticut  River  diverted  into  deep  canals 
and  swimming  along  so  smoothly  as  to  impart  but 
little  idea  of  their  strength.  Only  the  whir  of  the 
great  mills  gave  evidence  that  iron  and  steel  were 
being  moved  by  it. 

What  they  could  easily  understand  was  the  loveli- 
ness of  the  view  from  Mt.  Tom,  a low  mountain  just 
north  of  Holyoke.  They  changed  from  the  regular 
trolley  to  a mountain  climbing  road  and  after  a 
breathless  ride  at  an  acute  angle  they  found  them- 
selves on  the  small  plateau  on  which  the  Summit 

i74 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY  17 5 


House  is  built.  Telescopes  picked  up  the  distant 
scene  toward  each  point  of  the  compass  and  the  broad 
stretch  of  the  river  valley  dotted  with  towns  and 
banked  in  the  west  by  the  Berkshire  Hills  made  a 
view  of  beauty  and  variety.  Not  far  away  fields 
shone  vividly  green. 

“ What  crop  do  you  suppose  that  is?  ” Ethel  Blue 
asked.  “ It’s  a beautiful  green.” 

“ If  we  weren’t  in  New  England  I should  say  it 
was  tobacco,”  said  Dorothy.  “ It  looks  just  like  the 
big  tobacco  fields  around  Durham,  North  Carolina.” 

“ It  is  tobacco,”  replied  Mr.  Emerson.  “ Havs 
you  never  heard  of  the  Connecticut  Valley  tobacco? 
It  takes  a lot  of  work  to  bring  it  through  the  season 
without  being  frosted  or  scorched,  but  they  do  it. 
Over  there  you  see,  the  plants  are  protected  by  white 
cloth.” 

“ How  Roger  would  enjoy  this ! ” cried  Ethel 
Brown,  and  “ Wouldn’t  Helen  be  just  crazy  over  all 
the  history  of  this  region?  ” added  Ethel  Blue,  while 
Dorothy,  who  had  travelled  much  but  never  without 
her  mother,  silently  wished  that  she  were  there  to 
enjoy  it  all. 

“ There’s  another  girl’s  college  of  note,”  and  Mrs. 
Emerson  pointed  out  Mt.  Holyoke  at  South  Hadley, 
northeast  of  Mt.  Tom. 

“ And  we’re  going  to  see  Smith  College  to-day! 
I feel  as  if  I wanted  to  go  to  all  of  them ! ” cried 
Ethel  Blue. 

“ \ ou  might  take  a year  at  each  and  find  out  which 
was  best  suited  to  your  temperament,”  laughed  Mrs. 
Emerson. 

From  the  foot  of  the  mountain  they  went  north- 
ward again  to  Northampton. 


i7 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Here’s  where  I ought  to  go  if  names  count  for 
anything,”  decided  Dorothy. 

“ If  all  the  girls  named  Smith  who  go  to  college 
anywhere  should  go  here  because  of  the  name  there 
wouldn’t  be  room  for  any  other  students,”  said  Mr. 
Emerson  jokingly. 

“ They  say,”  returned  Dorothy  on  the  defensive, 
“ that  in  the  beginning  all  the  people  in  the  world 
were  named  Smith  and  it  was  only  those  who  mis- 
behaved who  had  their  names  changed.” 

“ You  can  at  least  pride  yourself  on  their  being  an 
industrious  lot.  Think  of  all  their  crafts  — they 
were  armorers  and  goldsmiths,  and  silversmiths  and 
blacksmiths.” 

“ ‘ Always  busy,  just  like  me,’  ” sang  Dorothy  to 
a tune  that  she  and  the  Ethels  had  composed  once 
when  they  could  not  find  any  music  suitable  for  a 
game  they  had  invented. 

They  wandered  for  an  hour  over  the  grounds  of 
the  college  and  saw  much  that  interested  them.  The 
girls  were  just  a trifle  shaken  in  their  allegiance  both 
to  Radcliffe  and  Wellesley,  and  they  finally  decided 
that  before  they  made  up  their  minds  as  to  where 
they  would  go  they  would  come  again  to  Massa- 
chusetts and  make  a thorough  investigation  of  each. 

“ Helen  wants  to  go  to  Wellesley  and  Margaret 
says  she’s  going  to  Cambridge  so  we’ll  have  their  ex- 
periences to  judge  by,”  they  determined. 

Eastward  from  the  main  line  the  trolley  ran  to 
Amherst. 

“ What’s  at  Amherst?  ” asked  Ethel  Brown. 

“ Two  colleges,”  answered  Mr.  Emerson. 
“ There’s  a school  of  some  kind  at  about  every  turn 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY 


in  the  Connecticut  Valley.  Amherst  College  is  ht 
and  also  the  Massachusetts  Agricultural  College.” 

“ That’s  nice  for  the  Smith  girls  — to  have  their 
brothers  and  their  brothers’  friends  near  at  hand.” 

“ That’s  one  reason  why  I should  think  Helen 
would  like  Wellesley,”  said  Ethel  Brown.  “ Roger 
will  be  at  the  Boston  Tech  for  two  of  the  years 
she’s  at  college.  It’s  so  convenient  to  have  a brother 
to  go  about  with.” 

“ Tech  boys  don’t  have  much  time  to  go  about  with 
their  sisters  or  anybody’s  sisters,”  said  Ethel  Blue 
who  had  listened  to  Roger’s  account  of  the  hard  work 
that  the  technical  students  had  to  meet. 

“ Perhaps  not,  but  it  would  be  nice  to  have  Roger 
somewhere  around  and  I’m  sorry  he’ll  be  through 
by  the  time  we  go.” 

“ All  off  here,”  called  Mr.  Emerson  from  his  seat 
behind  them. 

“ Is  this  Amherst?  ” 

“ This  is  Hadley,  but  we’re  going  to  stay  over  a. 
car  here  to  see  one  or  two  interesting  things.” 

“ What  a wide,  wide  street!  ” 

“ That’s  interesting  in  itself.  You  don’t  see  a 
street  like  that  in  most  villages.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  ‘ Fighting  Joe  Hooker  ’?  ” 

“ I have,”  returned  Ethel  Blue  promptly.  Be- 
cause her  father  was  in  the  army  she  had  read  much 
about  famous  American  soldiers. 

“Who  was  he?”  asked  Dorothy,  who  had  not 
had  the  same  reason  for  studying  American  wars. 

“ Lie  was  a West  Pointer  and  fought  in  the  Mexi- 
can War.  In  the  Civil  War  he  was  a general  on  the 
Union  side,  in  command  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 


178  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


in  1863  and  he  was  defeated  by  General  Lee  at  Chan- 
cellorsville.  He  won  his  nickname  by  his  dash  and 
courage  — yet  he  was  born  in  this  sleepy  little  village 
of  Hadley.” 

“ It’s  the  spirit  that’s  in  the  cradle  and  not  the 
cradle  itself,”  remarked  Mrs.  Emerson. 

“ Over  here  are  some  large  rose  gardens  that  are 
worth  looking  at,”  and  Mr.  Emerson  led  the  way  to 
a spot  where  even  so  late  in  a Massachusetts  sum- 
mer fifty  acres  of  rosebushes  were  thriving  and 
blooming  in  marvellous  beauty.  They  wandered 
among  them  for  as  long  a time  as  they  could,  and 
then  Mr.  Emerson  showed  them  the  house  that  had 
sheltered  Goffe  and  Whalley. 

“I  do  wish  Helen  was  here ! ” exclaimed  Ethel 
Brown.  “ Grandfather  throws  out  a remark  about 
‘ Goffe  and  Whalley  ’ and  I never  heard  of  the 
gentlemen!  ” 

“ Nor  I.” 

“ Nor  I.” 

“ Whisper  it  to  us,  Grandmother,  so  we  won’t  be 
ashamed  to  look  Grandfather  in  the  face.” 

“ You  needn’t  be,”  smiled  Mrs.  Emerson  encour- 
agingly. “ I should  be  much  surprised  if  you  had 
heard  of  them.” 

“ Tell  us  about  them,”  begged  Dorothy  of  their 
guide. 

“ What  do  you  know  about  Charles  I of  Eng- 
land? ” asked  Mr.  Emerson  by  way  of  reply. 

“ Charles  I ? He  was  the  English  king  who 
fought  with  Oliver  Cromwell  and  had  his  head  cut 
off.  Isn’t  that  right?  ” 

“ Correct.  These  two  men  — ” 

“ Goffe  and  Whalley?  ” 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY,  179 


“ Goffe  and  Whalley  were  commanders  in  the 
Roundhead  army  and  they  were  two  of  the  judges 
who  condemned  Charles  to  execution.  After  the 
Restoration,  when  the  Royalists  came  into  power 
again,  the  regicides  — ” 

“The  what?” 

“ Regicides  — king  killers  — found  it  wise  to  dis- 
appear. Goffe  and  Whalley  came  to  America  and 
hid  themselves  in  this  remote  village.” 

“ Didn’t  we  still  belong  to  England  then?  ” 

“Yes;  it  was  more  than  a hundred  years  before 
the  Revolution.” 

“ Why  didn’t  they  catch  them  and  return  them  to 
England?” 

“ You  forget  that  people  running  away  had  a bet- 
ter chance  to  escape  then  than  now  when  the  telegraph 
and  telephone  and  wireless  can  outdistance  any  train 
or  steamer.  These  men  lived  quietly  in  disguise 
here.  One  of  them  taught  school.  They  told  so 
little  about  themselves  that  people  suspected  that 
they  had  something  to  do  with  Cromwell’s  adminis- 
tration, but  it  was  not  until  after  they  died  that  they 
were  pretty  well  convinced  of  their  identity.” 

“ Most  of  the  Massachusetts  folk  were  more  in 
sympathy  with  the  Roundheads  than  the  Royalists, 
I suppose,  so  they  didn’t  press  their  search  very 
hard,”  Mrs.  Emerson  suggested. 

“ I dare  say  that  was  the  reason.” 

“ And  this  was  the  house  they  lived  in.” 

The  girls  looked  earnestly  at  this  house  of  a new 
interest,  quite  different  from  any  other  they  had  felt. 

“ It  would  be  almost  impossible  for  a man  to  hide 
like  that  in  this  twentieth  century,”  decided  Ethel 
Brown.  “ Even  these  men  must  have  felt  nervous 


i8o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


if  ever  a person  recently  from  England  happened 
into  the  village.” 

“ There  are  stories  that  they  had  hiding  places  in 
the  woods,  and  that  when  anybody  who  looked  sus- 
picious appeared  they  ‘ took  to  the  woods,’  literally, 
until  the  coast  was  clear  again.” 

The  next  car  bore  the  party  to  Amherst  where 
they  went  over  the  grounds  and  surveyed  the  build- 
ings with  great  interest. 

“ Very  different  from  Harvard,”  commented  Ethel 
Brown. 

“ I should  think  the  boys  would  feel  more  at  home, 
though,”  Ethel  Blue  decided.  “ It’s  a sort  of  pleas- 
ant, comfy  place.  You  can  see  almost  all  of  it  at 
once  and  everybody  must  know  everybody  else.” 

“ That’s  the  trouble  with  big  universities,”  nodded 
Mr.  Emerson;  “ a boy  can  only  get  acquainted  with 
a comparatively  small  group.  It’s  like  living  in  a 
large  city  or  a small  town.” 

“ Me  for  a small  town  — just  the  size  of  Rose- 
mont ! ” cried  Dorothy,  who  had  seen  much  of  large 
towns  and  was  glad  to  have  a real  home  where  she 
could  bow  to  almost  every  one  she  met  on  the  street. 

“ Deerfield,”  murmured  Mrs.  Emerson,  as  the  car 
from  the  junction  at  Northampton  went  northward. 

Why  is  that  name  familiar  to  me?  ” 

“ There’s  something  in  our  history  about  Deer- 
field, I seem  to  remember,”  said  Ethel  Brown. 

“ I don’t  remember  any  history  but  I’ve  heard 
something  about  a home  industries  association,  that 
has  been  started  here.  I think  the  people  at  the 
Arts  and  Crafts  Studios  at  Chautauqua  told  Mother 
about  it  last  summer,”  said  Dorothy. 

“ I never  heard  of  that,”  replied  Mr.  Emerson, 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY  181 


“ but  I remember  the  history.  During  King  Philip’s 
War—” 

“ Who  was  he?  ” interrupted  Mrs.  Emerson. 

“ An  Indian,  chief  of  the  Wampanoags.  The  war 
called  by  his  name  was  in  1675.  In  September  a 
band  of  80  Englishmen  called  the  ‘ Flower  of 
Essex  ’ under  Captain  Lathrop  was  sent  to  Deer- 
field to  save  some  grain  that  the  inhabitants  had  had 
to  abandon  there.  They  were  attacked  by  the  In- 
dians near  a stream  that  has  been  called  ever  since 
‘ Bloody  Brook,’  and  only  nine  of  the  eighty  es- 
caped. I picked  up  this  leaflet  in  Springfield  last 
night  to  read  you  when  we  reached  this  stage  of  our 
journey.” 

“ What  is  it?  ” asked  the  girls. 

“ A ballad  by  Edward  Everett  Hale.  It’s  called 
‘ The  Lamentable  Ballad  of  Bloody  Brook.’  ” 

“ Come  listen  to  the  Story  of  brave  Lathrop  and  his  Men, — 
How  they  fought,  how  they  died, 

When  they  marched  against  the  Red  Skins  in  the  Autumn 
Days,  and  then 
How  they  fell,  in  their  pride, 

By  Pocumtuck  Side. 

“ ‘ Who  will  go  to  Deerfield  Meadows  and  bring  the  ripened 
Grain  ? ’ 

Said  old  Mosely  to  his  men  in  Array. 

‘ Take  the  Wagons  and  the  Horses  and  bring  it  back  again; 
But  be  sure  that  no  Man  stray 
All  the  Day,  on  the  Way.’ 

“ Then  the  flower  of  Essex  started,  with  Lathrop  at  their 
head, 

Wise  and  brave,  bold  and  true, 


1 82  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


He  had  fought  the  Pequots  long  ago,  and  now  to  Mosely 
said, 

‘ Be  there  many,  be  there  few, 

I will  bring  the  Grain  to  you/ 

“ They  gathered  all  the  Harvest,  and  marched  back  on  their 
Way, 

Through  the  Woods  which  blazed  like  Fire. 

No  Soldier  left  the  Line  of  march  to  wander  or  to  stray, 
Till  the  Wagons  were  stalled  in  the  Mire, 

And  the  Beasts  began  to  tire. 

“ The  Wagons  have  all  forded  the  Brook  as  it  flows, 

And  then  the  Rear-Guard  stays 
To  pick  the  Purple  Grapes  that  are  hanging  from  the  Boughs, 
When,  crack!  — to  their  Amaze, 

A hundred  Firelocks  blaze! 

“ Brave  Lathrop,  he  lay  dying,  but  as  he  fell  he  cried, 

‘ Each  Man  to  his  Tree/  said  he, 

‘ Let  no  one  yield  an  inch ; * and  so  the  soldier  died ; 

And  not  a Man  of  all  can  see 
Where  the  Foe  can  be. 

“ And  Philip  and  his  Devils  pour  in  their  Shot  so  fast, 
From  behind  and  before, 

That  Man  after  Man  is  shot  down  and  breathes  his  last. 
Every  Man  lies  dead  in  his  Gore 
To  fight  no  more, — no  more! 

“ Oh,  weep,  ye  Maids  of  Essex,  for  the  Lads  who  have 
died, — 

The  Flower  of  Essex  they! 

The  Bloody  Brook  still  ripples  by  the  black  Moun- 
tain-side, 

But  never  shall  they  come  again  to  see  the  ocean-tide, 

And  never  shall  the  Bridegroom  return  to  his  Bride, 

From  that  dark  and  cruel  Day, — cruel  Day!” 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY  183 


“ Oof,  that  does  give  you  the  shivers  ” shrugged 
Dorothy. 

“ The  soldiers  in  this  war  to-day  don’t  see  their 
enemies  either,”  commented  Ethel  Blue.  “ Now  it’s 
because  the  guns  are  fired  from  such  a long  distance, 
but  the  result  is  just  the  same  as  if  the  enemy  was  an 
Indian  hiding  behind  a tree.” 

“ If  we  really  want  to  think  peace  instead  of  war 
we  ought  not  to  read  poems  like  that,”  said  Ethel 
Brown. 

“ Then  I won’t  read  you  this  other  one  about 
‘ The  Sack  of  Deerfield.’  It’s  too  long,  anyway,  to 
read  before  we  get  there,  but  you  can  read  it  for 
yourselves  some  time  when  you’re  not  in  a peaceful 
mood.” 

“ Who  wrote  it?  ” 

“ Thomas  Dunn  English.” 

“The  author  of  ‘ Ben  Bolt’?” 

“ The  same  man.  I’ll  tell  you  the  story.” 

“ When  was  Deerfield  sacked?  ” 

“ On  the  last  day  of  February,  1704.  The  Gov- 
ernor of  Canada  sent  a force  of  300  Frenchmen  and 
Indians  under  a leader  named  de  Rouville  against 
the  village.  They  reached  it  early  in  the  morning 
and  found  it  almost  buried  under  snowdrifts  with  so 
hard  a crust  that  they  could  walk  on  it.  The  sen- 
tinel had  betrayed  his  trust  by  going  to  sleep,  and 
the  surprise  of  the  village  was  complete.  The  man 
who  is  supposed  to  tell  the  tale  relates  that  he  saw  his 
wife  and  children  slain.  He,  himself,  was  bound, 
but  saw  a knife  near  him,  cut  his  fetters  and  killed 
the  savage  who  had  slain  his  wife.  The  man’s  rush 
terrified  the  attackers  who  fled  for  a time,  but  were 
recalled  by  their  leader,  and  the  colonist  was  again 


1 84  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


overcome  and  bound  and  destined  for  torture  by 
fire.  One  house,  defended  by  men  who  shot  and 
women  who  moulded  bullets  for  them,  held  out,  and 
at  sunrise  de  Rouville  abandoned  the  attack  and  or- 
dered a retreat.  A helping  party  approached  as  the 
withdrawal  began,  but  the  French  leader  threatened 
to  murder  his  prisoners  if  they  tried  to  capture  them, 
and  they  fought  in  vain.  At  night  our  prisoner  was 
bound  to  an  Indian,  but  while  the  savage  slept  he 
softly  drew  his  captor’s  knife  from  his  belt  and  killed 
him.  Here’s  the  last  stanza;  — 

“ Then  I cut  the  cord  that  bound  me,  peered  around  me, 
rose  uprightly, 

Stepped  as  lightly  as  a lover  on  his  blessed  bridal  day ; 
Swiftly,  as  my  need  inclined  me,  kept  the  bright  North  Star 
behind  me, 

And,  ere  dawning  of  the  morning,  I was  twenty  miles 
away.” 

“ Ugh,  I don’t  like  that  one  either,”  declared 
Ethel  Blue. 

“ It  sounds  more  like  murder  than  war,  doesn’t 
it?  ” commented  Mr.  Emerson.  “ That’s  what  war 
really  is,  if  we  only  saw  it  clearly.  We’re  so  accus- 
tomed to  thinking  of  it  as  something  glorious  that 
we  forget  that  it  means  the  killing  of  man  by  his 
brother  man.” 

“ The  man  who  is  supposed  to  tell  the  story  isn’t 
very  consistent,”  remarked  Mrs.  Emerson  who  had 
been  looking  over  the  poem  as  her  husband  told  the 
tale;  “he  calls  the  man  he  was  tied  to  a ‘murder- 
tainted,  loathsome  Pagan,’  and  then  he  murdered  him 
in  his  sleep.” 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY  185 


“ There  always  is  a great  difference  between 
‘ yours  ’ and  ‘ mine,’  ” replied  Mr.  Emerson  dryly. 

“ The  Americans  forgot  all  their  hatred  for  the 
French  when  the  Revolution  came  and  the  French 
helped  us  against  the  British,”  said  Ethel  Brown. 

“ And  we  who  were  once  English  defeated  the 
English  in  the  Revolution  and  then  in  the  War  of 
1812,  and  now  there  has  been  a hundred  years  of 
peace  between  the  two  countries.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  the  Great  War  now  going  on  there  would  have 
been  much  celebrating  in  1915.” 

“We’ve  been  so  soaked  in  war  for  the  last  few 
months  it  almost  seems  as  if  there  never  had  been 
peace,”  sighed  Mrs.  Emerson. 

“ Is  this  the  town  wThere  there  was  such  killing?  ” 
demanded  Ethel  Blue  in  amazement  as  the  car  swept 
around  a curve  into  the  broad  quiet  street  of  the 
village  of  Deerfield.  Huge  trees  stood  before  large 
wooden  houses,  that  looked  as  ancient  as  they  really 
were. 

“ It’s  certainly  a town  of  calm  now,”  said  Mr.  Em- 
erson as  he  helped  his  party  from  the  car. 

They  walked  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the 
other,  simply  for  the  delight  of  absorbing  the  air 
of  antiquity  which  they  seemed  to  breathe  in  on  the 
breeze.  Then  they  went  to  the  museum  in  Me- 
morial Hall  and  examined  the  Indian  relics  and  the 
collection  of  colonial  household  articles. 

“ I wonder  we’ve  never  hunted  arrow  heads  in 
Rosemont.  Don’t  you  suppose  we  might  find  some 
there?”  Ethel  Brown  asked  her  grandfather. 

“ I don’t  doubt  it  at  all.  When  we  get  home  it 
might  be  worth  your  while  to  go  to  that  field  I’m 
having  cleared  on  the  north  corner  of  the  farm. 


1 86  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


The  trees  there  haven’t  been  cut  out  for  several 
generations,  to  judge  by  their  size.  The  men  are 
taking  out  the  stumps  now  and  when  they  turn  over 
the  earth  I should  be  surprised  if  they  didn’t  turn  up 
some  Indian  relics.” 

“ Let’s  go  there  the  very  day  we  get  back!  ” ex- 
claimed Ethel  Blue.  “ I never  thought  about  finding 
Indian  things  my  own  self.  It  always  seemed  as 
if  they  grew  in  cases  in  museums.” 

“If  we  find  any  we  can  start  a museum  of  our 
own,”  proposed  Dorothy. 

They  looked  at  the  oldest  house  of  all,  the  Old 
Tavern,  which  once  sheltered  Benedict  Arnold.  In- 
quiry about  the  home  industries  brought  them  to  the 
house  of  a woman  who  told  them  the  story  of  the 
movement  that  had  resulted  so  happily  for  the  peo- 
ple of  the  town. 

“ You  see,  our  town  is  just  old''  she  said  em- 
phatically. “ We  haven’t  any  factories  or  anything 
but  farms  and  memories,  and  this  has  brought  us 
something  to  do  that  has  interested  us  and  is  in  keep- 
ing with  the  traditions  of  the  place.” 

“ I can  well  understand  that  all  of  you  enjoy  the 
work,”  said  Mrs.  Emerson,  looking  over  the  list 
of  hand  manufactures. 

“We  divide  the  work.  Some  of  us  have  learned 
to  do  one  thing  well  and  some  like  another  best,  so 
whenever  an  order  comes  in  it  is  filled  by  the  person 
who  can  do  it  most  easily.” 

“ You’re  co-operative,”  remarked  Mr.  Emerson. 

“ We’re  neighbors  and  friends,  and  somehow 
we’re  better  friends  because  we’re  having  this  work 
to  do,”  she  smiled. 


THE  CONNECTICUT  VALLEY  187 


“ I wish  we  could  get  Mrs.  Tsanoff  up  here,” 
sighed  Ethel  Blue.  “ She  loves  the  country  and  she 
likes  to  sew  and  when  she’s  well  she’s  strong.  You 
don’t  want  a Bulgarian  man  and  his  wife  and  two 
children,  do  you?”  she  asked,  smiling. 

Their  hostess  took  her  seriously. 

“A  Bulgarian?”  she  repeated.  “That  sounds 
rather  warlike  to  country  ears ! I never  saw  a Bul- 
garian; I just  read  about  them  at  the  time  of  the 
Balkan  War.” 

“ This  one  is  peaceful  enough,”  encouraged  Mr. 
Emerson,  and  he  told  her  about  Mrs.  Tsanoff  and 
her  experience  in  America. 

“ Poor  soul ! ” cried  his  listener.  “ She  ought  to 
be  in  the  country.  I wonder  if  you  would  mind  tell- 
ing my  neighbor  across  the  street  about  her.  She 
and  her  husband  have  been  wanting  a man  and  his 
wife  to  work  on  the  farm  and  help  in  the  house.  If 
they  wouldn’t  be  too  lonely  here  where  there  are  no 
people  of  their  own  kind,”  she  ended  questioningly. 

“ I rather  imagine  they’d  be  so  glad  to  get  into 
the  country  that  they  would  learn  English  rather 
than  stay  in  the  city  where  they  could  occasionally 
hear  Bulgarian.” 

Mr.  Emerson  went  across  the  street  and  he  was 
gone  so  long  that  the  others  were  not  surprised  when 
he  returned  to  tell  them  that  there  really  was  a chance 
for  the  Tsanoffs. 

“ I have  promised  to  find  out  from  Mr.  Watkins 
all  that  I can  about  the  husband,  and  to  talk  with 
Mrs.  Tsanoff  about  coming  here.  I am  to  send 
these  people  photographs  of  the  Tsanoffs  and  they 
are  to  send  me  photographs  of  the  farm  and  house 


1 88  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


to  show  the  Tsanoffs  so  that  they  won’t  come  here 
as  blindly  as  when  they  came  to  America  not  know- 
ing the  very  first  thing  about  it.” 

“ What  a blessing  it  will  be  for  them  if  we  can  just 
make  the  arrangement ! ” cried  Ethel  Blue,  who  was 
beginning  to  think  a good  deal  about  the  future  of 
the  people  whose  care  they  had  undertaken  for  the 
summer. 

“ Of  course  we  didn’t  promise  anything  after  the 
summer,”  she  said  to  Ethel  Brown  and  Dorothy  as 
they  waited  for  the  car  that  was  to  carry  them  still 
farther  north  to  Greenfield,  “ but  it  does  seem  such 
a shame  for  them  to  go  back  to  live  in  the  very  way 
that  made  them  sick.” 

“ If  the  Tsanoffs  can  come  here  and  we  can  ar- 
range for  Mrs.  Paterno  to  work  with  that  embroid- 
ery school  in  New  York,  that  will  be  doing  some- 
thing lasting  for  two  of  them,  anyway,”  responded 
her  cousin,  and  they  squeezed  each  others’  hands 
joyfully  over  the  prospect. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  BERICSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON 

GREENFIELD,  where  the  party  spent  the  night, 
they  found  to  be  a pleasant  old  town  with 
the  wide,  tree-bordered  streets  to  which  they  were 
growing  accustomed  in  this  trolleying  pilgrimage. 
A quiet  hotel  sheltered  them  and  they  slept  soundly, 
their  dreams  filled  with  memories  of  colleges  and 
rose  gardens  and  Indians  in  romantic  confusion. 
The  next  day  they  started  westward. 

“ If  we  want  to  stay  long  in  Massachusetts  we 
have  to  go  either  east  or  west,”  laughed  Mr.  Emer- 
son; “ we’ve  just  about  used  up  our  chances  for  go- 
ing farther  north  and  still  keeping  within  the  state.” 
To  reach  North  Adams  they  were  forced  to  take 
a train  for  a few  miles.  They  were  the  more  willing 
to  forego  the  pleasure  of  trolleying  for  an  hour  or 
two  because  the  train  took  them  through  the  Hoosac 
Tunnel. 

“ When  the  Hoosac  Tunnel  was  opened  forty 
years  ago,  it  was  thought  a wonderful  piece  of 
engineering,”  said  Mr.  Emerson. 

“ How  long  is  it?  ” asked  Dorothy. 

“ Not  quite  five  miles.” 

“ What  does  it  tunnel?  ” 

“ It  goes  through  Hoosac  Mountain.  That  is 
one  of  the  Green  Mountains.  They  run  down 
through  Vermont  and  taper  off  in  western  Massa- 
chusetts in  the  Berkshire  Hills,  which  are  really  two 

189 


1 9o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

ranges  of  low  mountains,  the  Taconic  and  the 
Hoosac.  We’re  going  to  see  something  of  them 
to-day.” 

“ Massachusetts  has  such  a lot  to  see  packed  in 
such  a small  space,”  declared  Ethel  Brown  as  they 
came  out  of  the  smoky  darkness  of  the  tunnel  and 
soon  found  themselves  in  the  bustling  town  of  North 
Adams.  There  they  found  a trolley  waiting  to  take 
them  southward  and  they  bowled  along  with  Grey- 
lock,  a mountain  of  considerable  size,  stretching  its 
length  against  the  western  sky. 

“ Would  you  like  to  stop  and  make  the  ascent?  ” 
Mr.  Emerson  inquired. 

The  Ethels  would  have  liked  nothing  better,  and 
Dorothy  flushed  with  pleasure  at  the  proposition, 
but  they  saw  that  Mrs.  Emerson  was  not  favorably 
inclined  to  the  idea  so  they  laid  it  aside  in  their 
memories  for  fulfilment  at  some  other  time. 

The  street  car  company  had  erected  signs  at  points 
of  interest  along  the  way  and  the  passengers  read 
them  attentively.  Scraps  of  information  about  the 
Revolution,  about  well-known  men  who  had  some 
connection  with  the  locality,  or  about  the  geography 
or  the  industries  of  the  section  were  given  them  from 
these  wayside  readers.  A little  guidebook  added  to 
the  fund  of  knowledge. 

“ The  guide  says  that  Josh  Billings  was  born  at 
Lanesborough  to  the  west  of  where  we  are  now,” 
read  Ethel  Brown.  “ Who  was  he?  ” 

Mr.  Emerson  smiled  at  his  wife. 

“ This  is  a new  generation  that  does  not  know  who 
Josh  Billings  was ! ” he  exclaimed.  “ Josh  Billings 
was  the  pen  name  which  a man  named  Shaw  signed  to 
his  articles.  He  was  a funny  man  and  all  America 


BERKSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON  191 


laughed  at  him  and  his  spelling.  Every  year  he  pub- 
lished an  almanac — ‘Josh  Billings  Almanix,’  that 
the  farmers  used  to  rely  on  for  their  jokes  when  they 
sat  around  the  stove  of  the  country  store.” 

“ Another  product  of  this  part  of  the  world  seems 
to  be  cheese,”  remarked  Mrs.  Emerson  as  the  car 
whirled  through  a clean  village  which  lost  no  chance 
of  letting  the  wayfarer  know  what  its  chief  occupa- 
tion was.  “ I suppose  it  is  called  ‘ Cheshire  ’ be- 
cause Cheshire  in  England  is  famous  for  its  cheeses.” 
Pittsfield  they  found  to  be  a large  town  whose  old 
houses  surrounded  by  ancient  trees  gave  a feeling  of 
solidity  and  comfort. 

“ Longfellow  wrote  * The  Old  Clock  on  the 
Stairs  ’ here,”  said  Mr.  Emerson  pointing  out  the 
Appleton  house.  “ The  first  stanza  describes  more 
than  one  of  the  old  mansions,”  and  he  recited:  — 

“ Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country  seat. 

Across  its  antique  portico 

Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw, 

And  from  its  station  in  the  hall 
An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all, — • 

‘ Forever  — never ! 

Never  — forever ! ’ ” 

“ I remember  that  poem,  but  I never  liked  it 
much;  ” acknowledged  Dorothy;  “ it’s  too  gloomy.” 
“ It  is  rather  solemn,”  admitted  Mr.  Emerson. 
“ You’ll  be  interested  to  know  that  merry  Dr. 
Holmes  used  to  come  to  Pittsfield  in  the  summer. 
There  are  many  associations  with  him  in  the  town.” 
“ I’m  sure  he  wrote  gayer  poems  than  ‘ The  Old 
Clock  on  the  Stairs  ’ when  he  was  here.” 


1 92  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

“ Is  this  a very  old  town?  ” Ethel  Blue  asked. 

“ It  was  settled  in  1743.  Does  that  seem  old  to 
you?  ” 

“ 1743,”  Ethel  repeated,  doing  some  subtraction 
by  the  aid  of  her  fingers,  for  arithmetic  was  not  her 
strong  point.  “ A hundred  and  seventy-two  years,” 
she  decided  after  reflection.  “ Yes,  that  seems 
pretty  old  to  me.  It’s  a lot  older  than  Rosemont  but 
over  a hundred  years  younger  than  Plymouth  or 
Boston.” 

“ A sort  of  middle  age,”  Mr.  Emerson  summed  up 
her  decision  with  a smile. 

After  luncheon  at  the  hotel  an  early  afternoon  car 
sped  on  with  them  to  a station  whence  they  took  an 
automobile  for  a drive  through  Stockbridge  and 
Lenox  with  their  handsome  estates  and  lovely  views. 

The  trolley  whizzed  them  back  over  the  same 
route  to  North  Adams  and  westward  to  Williams- 
town. 

“ One  of  my  brothers  — your  great-uncle  James, 
Ethel  Brown  — went  to  Williams  College,”  said  Mr. 
Emerson,  “ and  I shall  be  glad  to  spend  the  night 
here  and  see  the  town  and  the  buildings  I heard  him 
talk  so  much  about.” 

“ Why  don’t  we  get  out,  then?  ” 

“ We’re  going  now  to  Bennington,  Vermont.” 

“Vermont!  Into  another  state!”  exclaimed 
Ethel  Blue. 

“ When  we  come  back  we’ll  leave  the  car  here.” 

“Are  those  the  Green  Mountains?”  asked  Dor- 
othy as  the  trolley  ran  into  a smoother  country  than 
they  had  been  in  while  traveling  in  the  Berkshires, 
but  one  which  showed  a background  of  long  wooded 
ranges  rising  length  after  length  against  the  sky. 


BERKSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON  193 


“ Those  are  the  Green  Mountains;  and  this  is  the 
‘ Green  Mountain  State,’  and  the  men  who  fought 
in  the  Revolution  under  Ethan  Allen  were  the  ‘ Green 
Mountain  Boys.’  ” 

“ But,  ranged  in  serried  order,  attent  on  sterner  noise, 

Stood  stalwart  Ethan  Allen  and  his  ‘ Green  Mountain 
Boys  ’ 

Two  hundred  patriots  listening  as  with  the  ears  of  one, 

To  the  echo  of  the  muskets  that  blazed  at  Lexington!” 

quoted  Mrs.  Emerson.  “ They  were  bound  north- 
ward to  the  British  fort  at  Ticonderoga.” 

“ Did  they  get  there?  ” 

“ They  took  the  British  completely  by  surprise. 
That  was  in  May,  1775.  It  was  in  August,  two 
years  later  that  the  battle  of  Bennington  took  place.” 

“Here?  In  this  peaceful  little  town  that  we’re 
riding  into?  ” 

“ Right  here.  A British  general  was  coming 
south  from  Canada  to  Albany.  He  ran  out  of  sup- 
plies, so  he  sent  some  men  over  to  Bennington  where 
they  had  found  out  that  the  Americans  had  collected 
some  supplies.  The  leader  of  the  Continentals  was 
John  Stark.” 

“ Let  me  read  Rodman’s  poem  to  the  girls, 
Mother,”  begged  Mr.  Emerson.  “ That  tells  the 
tale  pretty  well.  There  are  two  things  about  this 
battle  that  no  one  ever  forgets,”  he  went  on  as  he 
searched  in  his  bag  for  the  book  that  contained  the 
verses.  “ One  is  that  Stark’s  wife  was  named 
Molly,  and  the  other  that  a parson  who  lived  in 
Pittsfield  drove  all  the  way  to  the  Bennington  battle 
in  a chaise  and  preached  a sermon  to  the  British  when 
a lull  came  in  the  firing,  punctuating  his  remarks  with 

60 


i94  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


an  occasional  shot  when  he  thought  a regular  was 
aiming  at  him.  Here’s  the  book.” 

“ How  do  you  happen  to  be  carrying  Rodman’s 
poems  around  with  you?  ” demanded  Mrs.  Emerson, 
smiling. 

“ Haven’t  you  noticed  what  a lot  I knew  about 
the  places  we’ve  been  through  and  all  the  history 
connected  with  them?  I went  into  a book-store  in 
Boston  when  the  idea  popped  into  my  head  that  we 
might  come  back  this  way,  and  the  clerk  fixed  up  a 
small  but  sufficient  package  for  me.” 

They  all  laughed  at  his  confession,  and  Ethel  Blue 
thanked  him  for  having  so  much  forethought. 

“ Here’s  what  brother  Rodman  says.  I’m  not  go- 
ing to  read  the  whole  ballad;  it’s  too  long;  but  I’ll 
read  enough  for  you  to  get  an  idea  of  the  temper  of 
the  men  and  of  what  happened.” 

They  had  walked  to  the  outskirts  of  the  village 
and  settled  themselves  comfortably  where  they  could 
see  the  town  in  the  distance  and  yet  feel  far  enough 
away  to  be  able  to  imagine  that  it  was  but  a small 
part  of  its  present  size.  Mr.  Emerson  opened  his 
book. 

“ Up  through  a cloudy  sky,  the  sun 
Was  buffeting  his  way, 

On  such  a morn  as  ushers  in 
A sultry  August  day. 

Hot  was  the  air  — and  hotter  yet 
Men’s  thoughts  within  them  grew: 

They  Britons,  Hessians,  Tories  saw  — 

They  saw  their  homesteads  too.” 

“ Just  as  we  can,  through  the  trees,”  murmured 
Dorothy. 


BERKSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON  195 


“ Their  leader  was  a brave  old  man, 

A man  of  earnest  will: 

His  very  presence  was  a host  — 

He’d  fought  at  Bunker  Hill. 

A living  monument  he  stood 
Of  stirring  deeds  of  fame, 

Of  deeds  that  shed  a fadeless  light 
On  his  own  deathless  name. 

Of  Charlestown’s  flame,  of  Warren’s  blood, 

His  presence  told  the  tale, 

It  made  each  hero’s  heart  beat  high 
Though  lip  and  cheek  grew  pale; 

It  spoke  of  Princeton,  Morristown, 

Told  Trenton’s  thrilling  story  — 

It  lit  futurity  with  hope, 

And  on  the  past  shed  glory.” 

“ Trenton  and  Princeton  — those  are  the  battles 
that  three-or-four-times-great-grandfather  John  Em- 
erson wrote  about  in  the  big  Bible  when  he  was  tell- 
ing the  tale  of  Patience  and  Algernon  Merriam,” 
Ethel  Brown  recalled. 

“ The  very  same,”  agreed  her  grandfather,  re- 
suming his  reading. 

“ Who  were  those  men  — their  leader  who  ? 

Where  stood  they  on  that  morn  ? 

The  men  were  Berkshire  yeomanry, 

Brave  men  as  e’er  were  born, — 

Who  in  the  reaper’s  merry  row 
Or  warrior  rank  could  stand. 

Right  worthy  such  a noble  troop, 

John  Stark  led  on  the  band. 

tl  There  was  a Berkshire  parson  — he 
And  all  his  flock  were  there, 


196  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


And  like  true  churchmen  militant 
The  arm  of  flesh  made  bare. 

Out  spake  the  Dominie  and  said, 

‘ For  battle  have  we  come 
These  many  times  and  after  this 
We  mean  to  stay  at  homed 

“ The  morning  came  — there  stood  the  foe, 

Stark  eyed  them  as  they  stood  — 

Few  words  he  spake  — ’twas  not  a time 
For  moralizing  mood. 

‘ See  there  the  enemy,  my  boys ! 

Now  strong  in  valor’s  might, 

Beat  them,  or  Molly  Stark  will  sleep 
In  widowhood  to-night.’ 

u Brief  eloquence  was  Stark’s  — nor  vain  — 

Scarce  uttered  he  the  words, 

When  burst  the  musket’s  rattling  peal 
Out-leap’d  the  flashing  swords; 

And  when  brave  Stark  in  after  time 
Told  the  proud  tale  of  wonder, 

He  said  the  battle  din  was  one 
Continual  clap  of  thunder. 

“ Two  hours  they  strove  — then  victory  crowned 
The  gallant  Yankee  boys. 

Nought  but  the  memory  of  the  dead 
Bedimm’d  their  glorious  joys; 

Ay  — there’s  the  rub  — the  hour  of  strife, 

Though  follow  years  of  fame, 

Is  still  in  mournful  memory  link’d 
With  some  death-hallow’d  name.” 

“ All  the  poems  end  the  same  way,”  observed 
Ethel  Blue.  “ They  get  you  all  excited  about  a 
battle  and  then  they  say  that  peace  is  better,  or  that 
you  must  think  of  the  sad  side,  too.” 


BERKSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON  197 


“ That’s  because  everybody  feels  way  down  in 
his  heart  that  war  is  awful,”  said  Dorothy  slowly. 
“ You  feel  patriotic  and  it  all  seems  glorious,  but 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it  it  would  have  been  a lot 
better  if  there  hadn’t  been  any  quarrel  or  if  the  quar- 
rel had  been  settled  without  fighting.” 

“ That’s  why  so  many  people  favor  arbitration  of 
international  quarrels,”  said  Mr.  Emerson. 
“Arbitration?  What’s  that?  ” 

“ Talking  it  over;  trying  to  settle  it  without  fight- 
ing.” 

“ The  way  Ethel  Brown  and  I do  when  we  want 
to  do  something  different  and  we  both  give  way  and 
agree  on  something  else.” 

“ We’d  better  agree  to  have  dinner  or  supper  here 
if  we  don’t  want  to  get  back  to  Williamstown  after 
all  the  food  in  the  place  has  been  eaten  by  those 
hungry  college  boys,”  suggested  Mrs.  Emerson. 

Mr.  Emerson  took  a hasty  glance  at  the  setting 
sun. 

“ You  never  spoke  a truer  word,  my  dear,”  ap- 
plauded her  husband,  “ though  this  is  vacation  and 
the  boys  won’t  be  there!  Still,  I’m  as  hungry  as  a 
bear.  Let’s  have  our  evening  meal,  whatever  it 
proves  to  be,  in  Bennington.” 

They  were  all  hungry  enough  to  think  the  plan 
one  of  the  best  that  their  leader  had  offered  for  some 
time,  so  it  was  only  after  what  turned  out  to  be  sup- 
per that  they  went  back  to  Williamstown. 

In  the  moonlight  the  towers  of  the  college  build- 
ings glimmered  mysteriously  through  the  trees,  and 
the  girls  went  to  bed  happy  in  the  promise  of  what 
the  morning  was  going  to  bring  them. 

Ethel  Brown  was  sorry  that  there  were  no  stu- 


1 98  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


dents  to  be  seen  on  the  grounds  when  they  wandered 
about  the  next  morning,  for  she  would  have  liked  to 
see  what  sort  of  boys  they  were,  and,  if  she  liked 
their  looks,  have  suggested  to  Tom  or  James  that 
they  come  here  to  college  amid  such  lovely  surround- 
ings. She  liked  it  better  than  Amherst  but  Ethel 
Blue  preferred  that  compact  little  village,  and  Dor- 
othy clung  to  her  deep-seated  affection  for  Cam- 
bridge. 

“ After  all,  our  Club  boys  have  their  plans  all 
made  so  we  don’t  need  to  get  excited  over  these  col- 
leges,” decided  Ethel  Brown;  “ and  I’m  glad  they’re 
all  going  to  different  ones  because  when  they  gradu- 
ate we’ll  have  invitations  to  three  separate  class-days 
and  other  festivities.” 

“ What  a perfectly  beautiful  tower,”  exclaimed 
Dorothy. 

“ It’s  the  chapel.  That  light-colored  stone  is 
superb,  isn’t  it ! ” 

“ Some  of  these  other  buildings  look  as  old  as 
some  of  the  oldy-old  Harvard  ones.” 

“ They  can’t  be  anywhere  near  as  old.  This  col- 
lege wasn’t  founded  until  1793.” 

“ That’s  old  enough  to  give  it  a settled-down  air 
in  spite  of  these  handsome  new  affairs.  There  must 
be  lovely  walks  about  here.” 

“ Hills  almost  as  big  as  mountains  to  climb.  But 
the  boys  don’t  have  any  girls  to  call  on  the  way  the 
Amherst  boys  do,  with  the  Smith  girls  and  the  Mt. 
Holyoke  girls  just  a little  ride  away.” 

“ Perhaps  they’d  rather  have  mountains,”  re- 
marked Ethel  Brown  wisely. 

As  the  college  was  not  in  session  Mr.  Emerson 
was  not  able  to  see  any  of  the  records  that  he  had 


BERKSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON  199 


hoped  to  look  over  to  search  for  his  brother’s  name, 
and  as  almost  all  of  the  professors  were  out  of  town, 
he  could  not  question  any  of  the  older  men  of  the 
place  as  to  their  recollection  of  him.  He  was  quite 
willing,  therefore,  to  take  a comparatively  early  train 
for  Albany. 

They  arrived  early  enough  to  go  over  the  Capitol, 
seated  at  the  head  of  a broad  but  precipitous  street. 
It  was  very  unlike  the  stern  simplicity  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts State  House,  but  they  amused  themselves 
by  saying  that  at  least  the  two  buildings  had  one  part 
of  their  decoration  in  common.  In  Albany  the  tops 
of  the  columns  were  carved  with  fruits  and  flowers, 
all  to  be  found  in  the  United  States.  In  Boston  a 
local  product,  the  codfish,  held  a position  of  honor 
over  the  desk  of  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. 

“ All  made  in  the  U.  S.  A.,”  laughed  Dorothy, 
quoting  a slogan  of  the  wartime,  intended  to  help 
home  industries. 

They  wanted  to  see  the  Cathedral  and  St.  Agnes’ 
School  as  well  as  the  State  Board  of  Education  Build- 
ing, and  after  they  had  hunted  them  out  with  the  help 
of  a map  of  the  city,  and  had  taken  a trolley  ride 
into  the  suburbs,  and  had  eaten  a hearty  dinner  they 
were  glad  to  go  to  bed  early  so  as  to  be  up  betimes  to 
catch  the  Day  Boat  for  New  York. 

“ What  splendid  weather  we’ve  had,”  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Emerson  as  they  took  their  places  on  the  broad 
deck  of  the  handsome  craft.  It  was  not  the  same 
one  that  had  taken  them  to  West  Point  at  the  end  of 
May.  This  one  was  named  after  Hendrik  Hudson, 
the  explorer  of  the  river.  They  found  it  to  be  quite 
as  comfortable  as  the  other,  and  the  day  went  fast 


200  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


as  they  swept  down  the  stream  with  the  current  to  aid 
them. 

Occasionally  broad  reaches  of  the  river  grew  nar- 
rower and  wider  again  as  the  soil  had  proven  soft  or 
more  resistant  and  the  water  had  spread  or  had  cut 
out  a deep  channel.  Off  to  the  west  the  Catskills 
loomed  against  the  sky,  more  varied  than  the  Green 
Mountains  and  more  rugged. 

“ More  beautiful,  too,  I think,”  decided  Ethel 
Blue.  “ I like  their  roughness.” 

A storm  came  up  as  they  passed  the  mountains 
and  the  thunder  rumbled  unendingly  among  the  hills. 

“ Listen  to  the  Dutchmen  that  Rip  Van  Winkle 
saw  playing  bowls  when  he  visited  them  during  his 
twenty  years’  nap,”  laughed  Ethel  Brown  who  was  a 
reader  of  Washington  Irving’s  “ Sketch  Book.” 

“ I don’t  wonder  he  felt  dozy  in  summer  with  such 
a lovely  scene  to  quiet  him,”  Mrs.  Emerson  said  in 
his  defence.  “ I feel  a trifle  sleepy  myself,”  and  she 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  closed  her  eyes  with  an 
appearance  of  extreme  comfort. 

They  passed  Kingston  which  was  burned  by  the 
British  just  two  months  after  the  battle  of  Benning- 
ton; and  by  a large  town  which  proved  to  be  Pough- 
keepsie. 

“ Here’s  where  we  should  land  if  we  were  going  to 
finish  our  investigation  of  colleges  by  seeing  Vassar,” 
said  Mr.  Emerson. 

“ I’m  glad  we  aren’t  going  to  get  off!  ” exclaimed 
Ethel  Brown.  “ I’m  so  undecided  now  I don’t  see 
how  I’ll  ever  make  up  my  mind  where  to  go ! ” 

“ Something  will  happen  to  help  you  decide,”  con- 
soled Dorothy.  “ Isn’t  this  where  the  big  college 
boat  races  are  rowed?  ” she  asked  Mr.  Emerson. 


BERKSHIRES  AND  BENNINGTON  201 


“ Right  here  on  this  broad  stretch  of  water.  A 
train  of  observation  cars  — flat  cars  — follows  the 
boats  along  the  bank.  I must  bring  the  Club  up  here 
to  some  of  them  some  time.” 

“ O-oh ! ” all  the  girls  cried  with  one  voice,  and 
they  stared  at  the  river  and  the  shore  as  if  they  might 
even  then  see  the  shells  dashing  down  the  stream  and 
the  shouting  crowds  in  the  steamers  and  on  the 
banks. 

Below  Newburgh  the  river  narrowed  beneath  up- 
standing cliffs  and  a point  jutted  out  into  the  water. 

“ Do  you  recognize  that  piece  of  land?  ” Mr.  Em- 
erson asked. 

No  one  did. 

“ You  don’t  recall  West  Point?” 

“ We’re  in  the  position  now  of  the  steamers  and 
tugs  we  watched  while  we  were  having  our  dinner  at 
the  hotel.  Do  you  see  the  veranda  of  the  hotel? 
Up  on  the  headland?  ” 

They  did,  and  they  felt  that  they  were  in  truth 
nearing  home.  The  remainder  of  the  way  was  over 
familiar  waters,  and  they  called  to  mind  the  historic 
tales  that  Roger  and  Mr.  Emerson  had  told  them  on 
the  Memorial  Day  trip. 

“We’ve  seen  so  much  history  in  the  last  week, 
though,”  declared  Ethel  Blue,  “ that  I don’t  believe 
I can  ever  realize  that  I’m  living  in  the  twentieth 
century!  ” 


CHAPTER  XVI 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 

THE  week  after  the  home-coming  from  the 
Massachusetts  trolley  trip  was  a time  of  busy- 
ness for  the  Ethels  and  Dorothy.  Helen  and  Roger 
and  the  grown-ups  who  had  stayed  at  home  had  to  be 
made  familiar  with  every  step  of  the  way,  and  the 
whole  long  history  lesson  that  they  had  had  was  re- 
viewed especially  for  Helen’s  benefit.  She  looked 
up  battle  after  battle  in  large  histories  in  the  library 
and  was  so  full  of  questions  as  to  how  this  place  and 
that  looked  that  the  girls  regretted  that  they  had 
not  taken  a kodak  so  that  they  might  have  gratified 
her  curiosity  by  showing  her  pictures  of  all  the  his- 
torical spots  in  their  modern  garb. 

Affairs  at  Rose  House  had  to  be  brought  up  to 
date.  Mr.  Emerson  undertook  the  management  of 
Mrs.  Tsanoff’s  affairs  and  went  into  town  the  very 
day  after  his  return  to  call  on  Mr.  Watkins  and  find 
out  where  Tsanoff  was  working.  He  found  that  he 
had  been  discharged  from  his  position  but  a few  days 
before.  He  had  become  so  downcast  as  a conse- 
quence that  he  had  not  sent  word  to  his  wife  of  this 
fresh  disappointment,  and  he  was  unspeakably  grate- 
ful to  Mr.  Emerson  for  the  chance  that  he  opened  to 
him.  A kodak  of  his  dark,  sensible  face  was  easily 
obtained  to  send  to  Massachusetts  and  Mr.  Emerson 
went  home  feeling  that  the  first  step  had  been  well 
taken. 


202 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


203 


Making  Mrs.  Tsanoff  understand  the  new  propo- 
sition was  not  easy,  but  Mrs.  Schuler  and  Moya  had 
learned  something  of  her  language  as  she  had 
learned  more  English  during  the  summer  and,  when 
Mr.  Emerson  showed  her  a photograph  of  the  Deer- 
field farm  and  told  her  of  its  advantages  for  her  hus- 
band and  the  children  she  was  eager  to  go  to  it  at 
once. 

“ The  fields,  the  cows,”  she  kept  saying  over  and 
over  again,  and  the  girls  realized  how  st~ong  within 
her  was  her  love  for  the  country  for  which  she  had 
made  the  poor  exchange  of  the  city,  and  they  sym- 
pathized keenly. 

The  result  of  the  correspondence  between  Mr. 
Emerson  and  the  Deerfield  people  was  that  the  Bul- 
garians were  put  on  the  train  for  Springfield  within 
ten  days,  each  one  of  them,  even  the  twin  babies, 
wearing  a small  American  flag  so  that  they  might  be 
recognized  by  their  new  employer  who  was  to  meet 
them  at  Springfield  and  convoy  them  home.  Mrs. 
Tsanoff  left  Rose  House  in  tears,  kissing  the  hands 
of  all  the  girls  and  murmuring  her  gratitude  to  all 
of  them  over  and  over  again  as  she  wept  and  smiled 
by  turns. 

The  other  women  had  started  the  embroidery 
class,  teaching  each  other  and  Mrs.  Morton,  Mrs. 
Smith  and  the  Miss  Clarks.  The  plan  was  working 
out  very  well,  Mrs.  Schuler  thought,  especially  with 
Mrs.  Paterno,  who  evidently  loved  the  work  and  in 
it  was  already  losing  something  of  her  fear  and  anx- 
iety. 

Roger  had  made  a sideboard  for  the  Rose  House 
dining  room  assisted  by  the  members  of  the  Club 
who  were  “ not  off  gallivanting,”  as  he  expressed  it. 


204  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ It’s  mighty  good  looking,”  commented  Dorothy 
as  she  examined  it.  “Was  it  hard  to  make?  It 
looks  so.” 

“ No  worse  than  that  seat  we  made  for  Mrs. 
Schuler’s  room.  We  made  two  cupboard  arrange- 
ments for  the  ends  just  like  those,  only  we  put  a door 
over  each  one  of  them.  Instead  of  a big  box  be- 
tween them  to  be  used  as  a seat  we  put  a shelf  resting 
on  the  cleats  that  went  across  the  backs  of  the  book- 


shelves. Then  we  connected  the  two  cupboards  with 
a long  plank.” 

“ You  put  a back  behind  the  shelf.” 

“ We  put  on  thin  boards  for  a back,  but  we  haven’t 
decided  yet  whether  we  made  a mistake  in  putting 
doors  in  front  or  not.  I like  them  with  doors  the 
way  we  have  it,  but  Margaret  thinks  it  would  have 
been  rather  good  without  any  doors.  What  do  you 
think?” 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


205 


“ I think  Mrs.  Schuler  will  like  it  better  with 
doors.  The  linen  or  whatever  she  keeps  in  there 
will  be  cleaner  if  it  isn’t  exposed  to  the  air  on  open 
shelves  and  the  doors  will  serve  as  a protection 
against  dust.” 

They  all  agreed  that  it  was  one  of  the  best  pieces 
of  furniture  that  they  had  yet  made  for  the  house, 
and  the  travellers  were  sorry  that  they  had  not  had 
a hand  in  its  construction  on  account  of  the  experience 
the  progress  of  the  work  would  have  afforded  them. 

A few  days  later  the  Ethels  planned  an  excursion 
for  the  benefit  of  the  younger  children  which  was  to 
be  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a picnic,  but  it  was  ar- 
ranged to  have  everyone  attend  who  could  do  so. 

There  was  intense  excitement  among  the  smaller 
children  when  the  announcement  was  made  that  the 
picnic  would  be  held  early  the  following  week,  pro- 
viding the  weather  proved  clear  enough  not  to  inter- 
fere with  their  plans. 


Indian  Arrowheads. 


Dicky’s  share  in  the  excitement  of  the  journey  was 
the  stirring  up  of  a deep  interest  in  Indians.  When 
the  Ethels  told  him  that  they  were  going  over  to  the 
field  that  Grandfather  Emerson  was  having  cleared 
he  insisted  on  going  with  them  to  hunt  for  arrow 
heads.  They  waited  until  a day  after  a rain  had  left 
the  small  stones  washed  free  of  earth,  and  they  made 
an  afternoon  of  it,  all  the  Club  and  all  the  Rose 


20 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


House  women  and  children  going  too.  The  boys 
carried  hampers  with  the  wherewithal  for  afternoon 
tea,  and  the  expedition  assumed  serious  proportions 
in  the  minds  of  those  arranging  it  when  Dicky  asked 
if  they  would  need  one  of  Grandfather’s  wagons  to 
bring  home  the  arrow  heads  in. 

As  a matter  of  fact  they  did  not  find  many  arrow 
heads.  Whether  the  earth  had  not  yet  been  turned 
over  to  a sufficient  depth  or  whether  the  Indians 
who  had  lived  about  Rosemont  had  been  of  a peace- 
ful temper  or  whether  the  field  happened  not  to  be 
near  any  of  their  villages,  no  one  knew,  though  every 
one  made  one  guess  or  another. 

They  planned  the  search  methodically. 

“ I saw  a lot  of  Boy  Scouts  one  day  clear  up  the 
field  in  Central  Park  in  which  they  had  been  drill- 
ing,” said  Tom  Watkins.  “ They  stretched  in  a 
long  line  across  the  whole  field  and  then  they  walked 
slowly  along  looking  for  anything  that  might  have 
been  dropped  in  the  course  of  their  evolutions.” 

“ Did  they  find  much?  ” 

“ You’d  be  surprised  to  know  how  much ! ” 

“ Let’s  do  the  same  thing  here.  If  we  stretch 
across  the  field  then  every  one  is  responsible  for  just 
a small  section  under  his  eyes  — ” 
and  feet.” 

“ — and  feet.  I wish  we  had  an  arrow  head  to 
show  the  women  so  they’d  know  exactly  what  to  look 
for.” 

“ Father  had  one  in  the  cabinet,”  said  Roger, 
“ and  I put  it  in  my  pocket  for  just  this  purpose.  I 
don’t  know  where  he  got  it,  and  it  may  not  be  of  ex- 
actly the  kind  of  stone  these  New  jersey  Indians 
used,  but  it  will  show  the  shape  all  right.” 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


207 

“ They  always  used  flint,  didn’t  they?  ” asked 
Margaret. 

“ Flint  or  obsidian  or  the  hardest  stone  they  could 
find,  whatever  it  was.” 

“ Bone?” 

“ Sometimes.  I saw  quite  large  bone  heads  at 
the  Natural  History  Museum.” 

“ I’ve  seen  life-size  boneheads  frequently,”  an- 
nounced James  solemnly,  not  smiling  until  Roger 
and  Tom  pelted  him  with  bits  of  sod. 

The  arrow  head  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand 
and  every  one  studied  it  carefully.  Then  they 
stretched  across  the  field  and  began  their  search. 
The  result  was  not  very  satisfactory  from  Dicky’s 
point  of  view,  for  he  concluded  that  he  need  not  have 
worried  as  to  how  the  load  was  to  be  carried  home. 
There  were  only  seven  found.  Of  these,  however, 
Dicky  found  two,  one  by  his  unaided  efforts  and 
the  other  through  Ethel  Blue’s  taking  pains  not  to 
see  one  that  lay  between  him  and  her.  Nobody  else 
found  more  than  one  and  several  of  them  found 
none  at  all,  so  Dicky,  after  all,  was  hilarious. 

In  a corner  of  the  field  they  built  a fire  and  heated 
water  for  the  tea  in  a kettle  thrust  among  the  coals. 
Ears  of  corn  still  in  the  husk  were  roasted  between 
heated  stones,  bits  of  bacon  sizzled  appetizingly 
from  forked  sticks  and  dripped  on  to  the  flames  with 
a hissing  sound,  and  biscuits,  fresh  from  Moya’s 
oven,  were  reheated  near  the  blaze. 

It  was  while  they  were  sitting  around  the  fire  that 
Dicky’s  mind  turned  to  the  remainder  of  the  In- 
dian’s equipment. 

“ What  did  he  do  with  thith  arrow  head?  ” he  in- 
quired. 


2o8  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ He  tied  it  on  to  the  end  of  an  arrow,  and  shot 
bears  with  it.” 

“ What  ’th  an  arrow?  ” 

“ A long,  slender  stick.” 

“ Do  you  throw  it?  ” 

“ You  shoot  it  from  a bow.” 

“ What  ’th  a bow?” 

“ A curved  piece  of  wood  with  a string  connect- 
ing the  ends.” 

“ How  doeth  it  work?  ” 

Roger  heaved  a sigh  and  then  gave  it  up. 

“ Me  for  the  bushes,”  he  cried.  “ Language  fails 
me;  I’ll  have  to  make  a bow  and  arrow.” 

“ It’s  the  easiest  way,”  nodded  Tom.  “ Bring 
me  a switch  and  I’ll  make  the  arrow  while  you  make 
the  bow.” 

“ Who’s  got  a piece  of  string?  ” inquired  Roger 
a few  minutes  later  as  he  held  up  his  handiwork  for 
the  admiration  of  his  friends. 

James  produced  the  necessary  string  and  Roger 
strung  the  bow. 

“ Now,  then,  let’s  see  what  it  will  do,”  he  said. 
Adjusting  the  arrow  he  drew  the  cord  and  sent 
the  simple  shaft  whizzing  through  the  air  against 
a tree  where  it  stuck  in  the  bark  for  an  instant  before 
it  fell  to  the  ground. 

“ Do  you  think  it’s  safe  for  Dicky  to  have  an  ar- 
row as  sharp  as  that?”  inquired  Helen. 

“ That’s  not  sharp  enough  to  do  any  damage. 
It  didn’t  hold  in  the  tree.” 

Dicky  was  delighted  with  his  new  toy  and  went 
off  to  test  its  power,  followed  by  Elisabeth  of  Bel- 
gium, Sheila,  Luigi  and  Pietro  Paterno,  Olga  Peter- 
son and  Vasili  and  Vladimir  Vereshchagin.  The 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS  209 

romper-clad  band  stirred  the  amused  smiles  of  the 
elders  watching  them. 

“ They  certainly  are  the  cunningest  little  dinks  that 
ever  happened ! ” cried  Ethel  Brown,  establishing 
herself  comfortably  to  help  make  small  bows  and 
arrows  for  the  rest  of  the  flock. 

The  girls  as  well  as  the  boys  of  the  United  Service 
Club  knew  how  to  use  a jacknife  and  the  diminutive 
weapons  of  the  chase  were  soon  ready. 

The  Ethels  were  hunting  through  the  luncheon 
basket  for  string  when  a howl  from  the  other  side 
of  the  field  made  them  drop  what  was  in  their  hands 
and  rush  toward  the  trees  where  the  children  were 
playing.  The  mothers  followed  them,  Mrs.  Paterno 
and  Mrs.  Vereshchagin  in  the  lead. 

“ I certainly  hope  it’s  not  the  little  Paterno,”  said 
Ethel  Blue  breathlessly  to  Ethel  Brown  as  they  ran. 
“ Mrs.  Paterno  never  will  forgive  Dicky  if  he’s  got 
him  into  trouble  again.” 

They  concluded  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
group  of  children  that  the  Italian  woman  had  run 
from  nervousness  and  the  Russian  because  she  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  her  offspring,  for  it^was  Vladimir 
whose  yells  were  resounding  through  the  air.  Dicky 
was  bending  over  him  and  the  other  children  were 
standing  around  so  that  the  runners  as  they  ap- 
proached could  not  see  what  was  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Vereshchagin  increased  her  speed,  uttering 
sounds  that  fell  strangely  on  her  listeners’  ears. 
The  group  of  children  fell  away  as  their  elders  came 
near,  and  the  Ethels,  who  were  in  front,  saw  that 
Vladimir  was  pinned  to  a tree  by  Dicky’s  arrow 
which  had  pierced  the  fullness  of  his  rompers.  He 
could  not  be  hurt  in  the  least,  but  the  strangeness 


2io  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


of  his  position  had  startled  and  angered  him  and 
was  causing  the  shrieks  that  had  frightened  them 
all. 

Fortunately  for  Dicky,  Mrs.  Vereshchagin,  un- 
like Mrs.  Paterno,  had  a sense  of  humor,  and  as  soon 
as  she  saw  that  her  child  was  neither  injured  nor  in 
danger  she  burst  into  laughter  as  loud  as  his  cries 
of  rage  and  terror.  Roger  quickly  unfastened  him 
from  the  tree  to  which  he  was  bound  and  handed  him 
over  to  his  mother,  none  the  worse  for  his  expe- 
rience except  that  his  rompers  were  torn.  Turning 
to  Dicky,  Roger  decreed  that  the  head  must  be  taken 
from  his  arrow. 

“It’s  not  your  fault,  old  man,”  he  said;  “but 
Helen  was  right  — this  thing  is  too  sharp.” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what  to  do,  Roger,  get  some  of  those 
rubber  tips  that  slip  on  the  ends  of  lead  pencils. 
The  English  stationer  must  have  some.  If  you  put 
them  on  all  these  arrows  they  can’t  do  any  harm.” 

“ Meanwhile  the  kiddies  had  better  not  have 
them,”  Mrs.  Schuler  decided,  so  they  were  put  aside 
with  the  basket,  to  be  finished  later  when  the  needed 
tips  should  be  procured  in  Rosemont. 

“You  got  off  pretty  well,  that  time,  sir,”  laughed 
Roger.  “ What  were  you  trying  to  do?  ” 

“ I wath  an  Indian  thooting  bearth.  Vladimir 
wath  a bear.” 

“ A Russian  bear.  You  got  him  all  right;  but  let 
me  tell  you,  young  man;  you  must  be  mighty  care- 
ful what  you  aim  at,  for  international  complications 
may  follow.” 

“What  ’th  that?” 

“ That  means  it’s  dangerous  to  aim  at  anybody. 
I’ll  make  you  a target  and  when  you  get  so  you  can 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


21  I 


hit  the  bull’s  eye  three  times  out  of  five  at  a distance 
of  fifteen  feet  I’ll  give  you  a better  bow.  Is  it  a bar- 
gain? ” 

Dicky  shook  hands  on  it  solemnly. 

“ Remember  now,  no  shooting  at  any  living 
thing.” 

“Not  a cat?” 

“ Not  a cat  or  a bird,  a dog  or  any  other  animal 
on  two  legs  or  four.” 

“ All  right,”  nodded  Dicky,  and  Roger  knew  that 
he  would  keep  his  word,  for  that  is  a part  of  the 
training  of  a soldier’s  son. 

The  experiences  of  the  afternoon  were  not  yet 
ended.  The  arrow  episode  over  the  children  looked 
about  for  other  amusement.  They  drifted  away 
from  the  group  still  gathered  about  the  embers  of 
the  dying  fire  and  made  their  way  among  the  bushes 
standing  uncut  on  the  edge  of  the  new  clearing. 
Once  in  a while  their  laughter  was  borne  on  the 
breeze.  It  was  a long  time  before  any  one  thought 
of  seeing  what  they  were  doing.  Then  Ethel  Brown 
rose  and  sauntered  in  the  direction  whence  the  sounds 
came. 

“ With  Dicky  in  the  lead,”  she  thought,  “ it’s  just 
as  well  to  keep  an  eye  on  them.” 

As  she  approached  the  woods  she  saw  the  little 
army  of  rompered  youngsters,  each  armed  with  a 
switch,  and  each  doing  his  best  to  strike  something 
high  over  his  head.  They  all  stood  with  their  eager 
faces  looking  upward  and  their  arms  working  busily 
with  what  muscle  the  summer  had  given  them. 
Leaves  were  falling  from  the  bushes  and  the  lower 
branches  of  the  saplings  that  were  struck  by  their 
rods,  and  it  was  evident  that  they  were  causing  great 


2i2  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


destruction  to  the  foliage,  whatever  the  real  object 
of  their  attack. 

Ethel’s  wonderment  increased. 

“ Children  do  get  the  greatest  amount  of  fun  out 
of  the  smallest  things,”  she  thought.  “ What  can 
they  be  doing?  ” 

When  quite  near  the  thicket,  however,  her  slow 
steps  quickened  into  a run.  Her  sharp  eyes  discov- 
ered hanging  from  one  of  the  trees  over  the  heads  of 
the  children  one  of  the  large  wasps’  nests  which  seem 
to  be  made  of  gray  paper.  It  had  caught  Dicky’s 
attention  and  he  had  coveted  it  for  purpose  of  in- 
vestigation. Summoning  his  cohorts  he  had  pointed 
it  out  to  them  and  had  urged  them  to  bring  it  down. 
Each  one  had  broken  a stick;  some  had  stripped  off 
the  leaves  entirely;  others  had  left  a tuft  at  the  end. 
In  both  cases  the  weapons  looked  dangerously  de- 
structive to  Ethel,  as  she  ran  toward  them  and  saw 
one  pole  after  another  swish  past  the  home  of  the 
paper  wasps  and  expected  the  colony  to  rush  forth  to 
defend  their  abode.  With  a cry  of  warning  she 
bore  down  on  them  and  with  a sweep  of  her  arms 
turned  them  all  back  into  the  open  field.  Dicky 
was  indignant. 

“What  you  doing  that  for?”  he  demanded 
angrily.  “ One  more  thwat  and  I’d  a had  it.” 

“ You  don’t  know  what  it  is,”  cried  Ethel  breath- 
lessly. “ You’d  all  be  stung  if  there  were  any  wasps 
at  home.  That’s  their  house  and  they  get  awfully 
mad.” 

The  children  looked  back  fearfully  at  the  object 
of  their  attack. 

“ You’ve  had  a narrow  escape,”  insisted  Ethel, 
and  then  to  divert  their  minds  from  what  had  hap- 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


213 


pened  she  made  them  stretch  themselves  in  a line  and 
hunt  for  arrow  heads  all  the  way  back  to  their 
mothers. 

“ Thith  ith  a funny  thtone,”  exclaimed  Dicky, 
picking  up  a rather  large  oblong  stone  that  had  a 
groove  all  around  its  middle. 

“ It  looks  like  Lake  Chautauqua,  doesn’t  it?  You 
know  they  say  that  ‘ Chautauqua  ’ means  ‘ the  bag 
tied  in  the  middle.’  ” 

“ Did  the  Indianth  uthe  it?”  Dicky  asked  as  he 
laid  his  trophy  in  Roger’s  hand. 

“ I rather  think  they  did,”  returned  Roger  ex- 
citedly. “ It  looks  to  me  as  if  this  was  a hammer  or 
a hatchet.  See  — ” and  he  held  it  out  for  the  girls 
and  James  and  Tom  to  see,  “ they  must  have  lashed 
this  head  on  to  a stout  stick  by  a cord  tied  where  this 
crease  is.” 

“ It  would  make  a first-rate  hammer,”  commended 
James. 

“ The  Indians  didn’t  manufacture  as  many  of  these 
as  they  did  arrow  heads,  because,  of  course,  they 
didn’t  need  as  many.  I rather  guess  you’ve  made 
the  big  find  of  the  afternoon,”  and  Dicky  swelled 
with  pride  as  his  brother  patted  him  on  the  shoulder. 

When  it  became  time  to  go  home  the  Ethels  of- 
fered to  take  the  short  cut  to  Rosemont  and  get  the 
rubber  tips  for  the  children’s  arrows. 

“ If  we  go  across  the  field  and  the  West  Woods 
we  come  out  not  far  from  the  stationer’s,  and  we 
can  leave  the  tips  up  at  Rose  House  on  the  way  back 
so  they’ll  be  ready  for  you  to  put  on  to-morrow  and 
the  youngsters  can  have  the  bows  and  arrows  to  play 
with  right  off.” 

“ Let  me  go,”  begged  Dicky. 


214  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ All  right,”  agreed  Roger.  “ Be  careful  when 
you  go  over  the  railroad  track,  girls.  Mother  isn’t 
very  keen  on  having  Dicky  learn  that  road,  you 
know.” 

They  promised  to  be  careful  and  set  forth  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  the  rest  of  the  party  whom 
they  left  putting  together  the  remnants  of  the  feast 
and  packing  away  the  plates. 

It  was  an  interesting  walk.  They  played  Indian 
all  the  way.  Ethel  Blue’s  imagination  had  been 
greatly  stimulated  by  the  tale  of  the  attack  on  Deer- 
field and  she  pretended  to  see  an  Indian  behind  every 
tree.  Ethel  Brown  pretended  to  shoot  them  all  with 
unerring  arrow,  and  Dicky  charged  the  bushes  in 
handsome  style  and  routed  the  enemy  with  awful 
slaughter. 

“ This  is  just  the  kind  of  game  we  ought  not  to 
play  if  we  want  to  make  Dicky  think  of  peace  and  not 
of  war,”  declared  Ethel  Blue  at  last  when  she  had  be- 
come breathless  from  the  excitement  of  their  count- 
less adventures. 

“ That’s  so.  It’s  funny  how  you  forget.  It’s  just 
as  Della  says  — we  don’t  realize  how  fighting  and 
soldiers  and  thinking  about  military  things  is  put 
into  our  minds  even  in  games  when  we’re  little.” 

“ I’m  X'eally  sorry  we’ve  done  this,”  confessed 
Ethel  Brown  as  they  fell  behind  their  charge. 
“ Dicky’s  ‘ pretending  ’ works  over  time  anyway, 
and  he  may  dream  about  Indians,  or  get  scared  to  go 
to  bed,  and  it  will  be  our  fault.” 

“ It’s  rather  late  to  think  about  it  — but  let’s  try 
not  to  do  it  again.  Isn’t  there  something  we  can 
call  his  attention  to  now7  to  take  his  mind  off  In- 
dians? ” 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


215 


Dicky  was  marching  ahead  of  them  drawing  an 
imaginary  bow  and  bringing  down  a large  bag  of 
imaginary  birds,  while  from  the  difficulty  with  which 
he  occasionally  dragged  an  imaginary  something  be- 
hind him  it  seemed  that  he  had  at  least  slain  an  imagi- 
nary deer. 

Naturally,  with  his  hunting  blood  up,  the  Ethels 
found  him  not  responsive  to  appeals  to  “ see  what  a 
pretty  flower  this  is  ” or  to  examine  the  hole  of  a 
chipmunk.  He  was  after  more  thrilling  adventures. 
Still,  by  the  time  they  reached  the  railroad  track, 
everyday  matters  were  beginning  to  command  his 
attention.  This  short  cut  across  the  track  was  one 
that  he  had  seldom  been  allowed  to  take,  and  the 
mere  fact  of  doing  it  was  exciting.  He  stopped  in 
the  middle  and  looked  up  and  down  the  line  while  the 
girls  tugged  at  him.  It  was  only  when  he  saw  a bit 
or  two  of  shining  metal  which,  according  to  his 
arrow  head  game  of  the  afternoon,  he  picked  up 
and  tucked  away  in  the  pocket  of  his  rompers,  that 
his  attention  was  once  more  turned  to  the  gather- 
ing of  the  wonders  that  seemed  to  be  under  his 
feet  all  the  time  if  only  he  looked  for  them  hard 
enough. 

The  errand  to  the  stationery  shop  was  successful. 
The  stationer  said  that  most  pencils  now  were  made 
with  erasers  built  into  them,  but  that  he  thought  he 
had  a box  of  old  tips  left  over.  He  hunted  for  them 
very  obligingly,  and  set  so  small  a price  on  them  that 
the  Ethels  took  the  whole  box  so  that  they  might 
have  a liberal  supply  in  case  any  were  lost  off  the 
arrow  heads.  Dicky  put  one  in  his  pocket  so  that 
he  could  place  it  on  his  arrow  as  soon  as  he  got  it  into 
his  hands  once  more,  and  he  begged  the  Ethels  to  go 


2 1 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


home  by  way  of  Rose  House  so  that  he  could  fix  it 
up  that  very  night. 

“ Is  it  early  enough?  ” asked  Ethel  Blue. 

Ethel  Brown  thought  it  was. 

“ But  we’ll  have  to  hurry,”  she  warned;  “ there’s 
an  awfully  black  cloud  over  there.  It  looks  like  a 
thunder  storm.” 

They  scampered  as  fast  as  their  legs  would  carry 
them  and  reached  the  farm  in  the  increasing  dark- 
ness, but  before  any  rain  had  fallen.  They  found 
all  the  bows  and  arrows  standing  in  a trash  basket 
which  Roger  had  made  for  the  dining  room. 

“ Mr.  Roger  stood  them  up  in  that  so  the  children 
wouldn’t  be  apt  to  touch  ’em,”  explained  Moya. 

Dicky  sat  down  on  the  hearth  and  set  to  work  on 
the  arrow  which  he  recognized  as  his  because  of  its 
greater  length. 

“ You’ll  have  to  hurry  or  we’ll  get  caught,” 
warned  his  sister. 

“ We  ought  to  start  right  off,”  urged  Ethel  Blue. 
“ We’ll  have  to  run  for  it  even  if  we  go  now.” 

Mrs.  Schuler  brought  in  the  cape  of  her  storm 
coat. 

“ Take  this  for  Dicky,”  she  said.  “ If  it  does 
break  before  you  get  home  it  will  rain  hard  and  his 
rompers  won’t  be  any  protection  at  all.” 

“ Put  it  on  now,  Dicky,”  commanded  Ethel  Brown. 
“ Stand  up.” 

Dicky  rose  reluctantly. 

“ Why  do  you  fill  up  your  pocket  with  such  stuff,” 
inquired  Ethel  impatiently.  “ There,  throw  it  into 
the  fireplace  — gravel,  toadstools,  old  brass,”  she 
catalogued  contemptuously,  and  Dicky,  swept  on  by 


HUNTING  ARROW  HEADS 


217 


her  eagerness,  obediently  cast  his  treasures  among 
the  soft  pine  boughs  that  filled  the  wide,  old  fireplace. 

“ I’ll  clear  them  way,”  promised  Mrs.  Schuler. 
“ Hurry,”  and  she  fairly  turned  them  out  of  the 
house. 

“ You  made  me  throw  away  my  shiny  things,” 
complained  Dicky  as  they  ran  down  the  lane  as  fast 
as  they  could  go. 

“Never  mind;  you’d  have  jounced  them  out  of 
your  pocket  anyway,  running  like  this,”  and  Dicky, 
taking  giant  strides  as  his  sister  and  his  cousin  held 
a hand  on  each  side,  was  inclined  to  think  that  he 
would  be  lucky  if  he  were  not  jounced  out  of  his 
clothes  before  he  got  home. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE  STORM 

AFTER  all,  they  need  not  have  jerked  poor 
Dicky  over  the  ground  at  such  a rapid  pace  for 
the  storm,  though  it  grumbled  and  roared  at  a dis- 
tance, did  not  break  until  a late  hour  in  the  night. 
Then  it  came  with  a vengeance  and  made  up  for  its 
indecision  by  behaving  with  real  ferocity. 

To  the  women  at  Rose  House,  accustomed  to  the 
city,  where  Nature’s  sights  and  sounds  are  deadened 
by  the  number  of  the  buildings  and  the  narrowness  of 
the  streets,  the  uproar  was  terrifying.  Flash  after 
flash  lit  up  their  rooms  so  that  the  roosters  and  pup- 
pies and  pigs  and  cows  on  the  curtains  stood  out 
clearly  in  the  white  light.  Crash  after  crash  sent 
them  cowering  under  the  covers  of  their  beds.  The 
children  woke  and  added  their  cries  to  the  tumult. 

As  the  electric  storm  swept  away  into  the  dis- 
tance the  wind  rose  and  howled  about  the  house. 
Shutters  slammed;  chairs  were  over-turned  on  the 
porch;  a brick  fell  with  a thud  from  the  top  of  the 
chimney  to  the  roof;  another  fell  down  the  chimney 
into  the  fireplace  where  its  arrival  was  followed  by  a 
roar  that  seemed  to  shake  the  old  building  on  its 
foundation. 

“ Grrreat  Scott!”  ejaculated  Mr.  Schuler,  who 
had  learned  some  English  expressions  from  his 
pupils.  He  was  returning  through  the  hall  from  a 
hobbling  excursion  to  make  sure  that  all  the  win- 

218 


THE  STORM 


219 


dows  down  stairs  were  closed.  The  candle  dropped 
from  his  hand  and  he  was  left  in  the  dark.  His 
crutch  slid  from  under  his  arm,  and  he  was  forced 
to  cling  to  a table  for  support  and  call  for  his  wife 
to  come  and  find  it  for  him. 

Mrs.  Schuler  reached  him  from  the  kitchen  where 
she  had  been  attending  to  the  fastenings  of  the  back 
door.  Fortunately  her  light  had  survived  the  gusty 
attack  and  she  was  able  to  help  her  husband  to  his 
prop. 

“What  is  it?”  she  cried  breathlessly.  “Is  the 
house  falling?  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a noise!  ” 

Mr.  Schuler  never  had.  The  outcry  upstairs  was 
increased  by  the  shrieks  of  Sheila  who  had  slept  until 
the  last  shock  and  who  woke  at  last  to  add  her  pene- 
trating voice  to  the  pandemonium. 

“Do  you  smell  something  queer?”  asked  Mrs. 
Schuler.  “ Do  you  think  that  was  a lightning-bolt 
and  it  set  the  house  on  fire?  ” 

Her  husband  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

“ The  lightning  has  gone  by,”  he  said,  but  they 
went  together  on  a tour  of  investigation. 

Nothing  was  burning  in  the  kitchen,  but  the  rays 
of  the  uplifted  candle  showed  a zigzag  crack  on  the 
wall  behind  the  stove. 

“ That  wall  is  the  chimney,”  said  Mrs.  Schuler. 
“ Something  has  happened  to  the  chimney.” 

“ Let’s  go  into  the  dining-room  and  see  if  any- 
thing shows  there.” 

Into  the  dining-room  they  went.  An  acrid  smell 
filled  the  room,  and  as  they  entered  a smouldering 
flame  in  the  fireplace  burst  into  a blaze,  from  the 
draught  of  the  door.  Its  fuel  consisted  only  of  some 
trash  that  had  been  tossed  into  the  fireplace  and  hid- 


220  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


den  behind  the  fresh  pine  boughs  that  filled  the  open- 
ing through  the  summer.  The  drinking  water  in 
the  pitcher  on  the  table  was  enough  to  put  an  end 
to  it. 

“ It’s  hardly  large  enough  to  bother  to  put  out,” 
exclaimed  Mr.  Schuler,  “ if  it  weren’t  that  the  chim- 
ney seems  to  be  so  shaken  that  the  flames  might  work 
through  somewhere  and  set  fire  to  the  woodwork.” 

“ There’s  no  doubt  about  something  serious  hav- 
ing happened  to  the  chimney,”  and  Mrs.  Schuler 
stooped  and  pushed  back  three  or  four  bricks  that 
had  tumbled  forward  on  to  the  hearth. 

“ The  back  is  cracked,”  she  announced  from  her 
knees.  “ With  that  big  crack  on  the  kitchen  side  I 
rather  think  Moya  had  better  use  the  oil  stove  until 
Mr.  Emerson  can  send  a bricklayer  to  examine  the 
chimney.” 

“ Everything  but  this  seems  all  right  here;  you’d 
better  go  up  and  try  to  calm  the  women,”  advised 
Mr.  Schuler. 

The  wind  storm  was  dying  down  and  the  inmates 
of  Rose  House  were  becoming  quieter  as  the  din  out- 
side moderated.  The  Matron  went  from  room  to 
room  bringing  comfort  and  courage  as  her  candle 
shone  upon  one  frightened  face  after  another. 

“ It’s  all  over;  there’s  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,” 
she  said  over  and  over  again.  Only  to  Moya  did  she 
tell  what  had  happened  to  the  chimney,  so  that  she 
might  prepare  breakfast  on  the  oil  stove. 

“ It  almost  seems  I heard  a giant  fall  down  the 
chimney,”  the  Irish  girl  whispered  hoarsely. 

“ I dare  say  you  did  hear  the  bricks  falling. 
There’s  a gallon  or  two  of  soot  in  the  dining-room 
fireplace  for  you  to  clean  up  in  the  morning.” 


THE  STORM 


221 


“ ’Tis  easy,  that,  compared  wid  cleaning  up  the 
whole  house  that  seemed  like  to  tumble ! ” said  Moya 
with  a sigh  of  relief. 

The  children  were  already  asleep  and  the  remain- 
der of  the  night  was  unbroken  by  any  sound  save 
the  dripping  of  the  raindrops  from  the  branches  and 
the  swish  of  wet  leaves  against  each  other  when  a 
light  breeze  revived  their  former  activities. 

Little  Vladimir  was  up  early  with  a memory  of 
something  queer  having  happened  in  the  night.  He 
was  eager  to  go  down  stairs  and  find  out  what  it  was 
all  about  and  his  mother  dressed  him  and  let  him  out 
of  her  room  and  then  turned  over  to  take  another 
nap.  When  Moya  went  down  to  set  the  oil  stove  in 
position  for  use  he  was  amusing  himself  contentedly 
with  the  rubbish  in  the  fireplace,  his  face  and  hands 
already  in  need  of  renewed  attention  from  his 
mother. 

“ ’Tis  the  sooty-faced  young  one  ye  are,”  she 
called  to  him  good-naturedly.  “ Run  up  to  the 
brook  and  wash  yerself  an’  save  yer  mother  the 
throuble.” 

She  opened  the  back  door  and  he  ran  out  into  the 
yard,  but  instead  of  going  up  the  lane  to  the  brook 
he  scampered  round  the  house  and  down  the  lane. 
Moya  called  after  him  but  he  paid  no  attention. 

“ Sure,  I’ve  too  much  to  do  to  be  day-nursing  that 
young  Russian,”  she  murmured. 

There  were  wonderings  and  ejaculations  in  many 
tongues  when  all  the  women  and  children  came  down 
and  examined  the  cracks  in  the  kitchen  side  of  the 
chimney  and  in  the  back  of  the  dining-room  fireplace 
and  saw  the  heap  of  rubbish  and  bricks  piled  up  in 
the  fireplace.  It  gave  them  something  to  talk  about 


222  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


all  the  morning.  This  was  lucky,  for  the  grass  was 
too  wet  for  the  children  to  play  on  it,  and  when 
mothers  and  children  were  crowded  on  the  veranda 
idle  words  sometimes  changed  to  cross  ones. 

“ ’Tis  strange;  they’s  good  women,  iv’ry  wan,  take 
’em  alone,”  Moya  had  said  one  day  to  Mrs.  Schuler 
and  Ethel  Blue  when  they  heard  from  the  kitchen  the 
sounds  of  dispute  upon  the  porch;  “ yit  listen  to  ’em 
whin  they  gits  together.” 

“ That’s  because  each  one  of  them  gets  out  of  the 
talk  just  what  she  puts  into  it,”  explained  the 
Matron. 

“ Manin’  that  if  she  comes  to  it  cross  it’s  cross 
answers  she  gits.  It’s  right  ye  are,  ma’am.  ’Tis 
so  about  likin’  or  hatin’  yer  work.  Days  when  yer 
bring  happiness  to  yer  work  it  goes  like  a bird,  an’ 
days  when  ye  have  the  black  dog  on  yer  back  the 
work  turns  round  an’  fights  wid  yer.” 

Ethel  Blue  listened  intently.  Things  like  that 
had  happened  to  her  but  she  had  not  supposed  that 
grown  people  had  such  experiences.  She  remem- 
bered a day  during  the  previous  week  when  she  had 
waked  up  cross.  A dozen  matters  went  wrong  be- 
fore she  left  the  house  to  go  to  school.  On  the  way 
the  mud  pulled  off  one  of  her  overshoes,  and  her 
boot  was  soiled  before  she  was  shod  again.  The 
delay  made  her  five  minutes  late  and  caused  a black 
mark  to  deface  her  perfect  attendance  record. 
Every  recitation  went  wrong  in  one  way  or  an- 
other, and  every  one  she  spoke  to  was  as  cross  as 
two  sticks.  As  she  thought  it  over  she  realized  that 
if  what  Mrs.  Schuler  and  Moya  said  was  true  the 
whole  trouble  came  from  herself.  When  she  woke 
up  not  in  the  best  of  humor  she  ought  to  have 


THE  STORM 


223 


smoothed  herself  out  before  she  went  down  to  break- 
fast, and  then  she  would  have  picked  her  way  calmly 
over  the  crossing  and  not  tried  to  take  a short  cut 
through  the  mud;  she  would  not  have  been  delayed 
and  earned  a tardy  mark;  she  would  have  had  an  un- 
clouded mind  that  could  give  its  best  attention  to  the 
recitations  so  that  she  would  have  done  herself  jus- 
tice; people  would  have  been  glad  to  talk  to  her  be- 
cause she  looked  cheerful  and  was  in  a sunny  mood 
and  no  one  would  have  been  cross. 

“ I guess  it  was  all  my  fault,”  she  thought.  “ I 
guess  it  will  pay  to  straighten  myself  out  before  I 
get  out  of  bed  every  morning.” 

All  was  well  in  and  out  of  Rose  House  on  the 
morning  after  the  storm.  Every  one  told  her  ex- 
periences as  if  she  were  the  only  person  affected  and 
they  all  talked  at  once  and  enjoyed  themselves  im- 
mensely. Vladimir  came  running  up  on  to  the  porch 
in  the  middle  of  the  morning  and  threw  himself 
across  his  mother’s  lap. 

“ Where  have  you  been  now?  ” she  asked  him. 
He  had  come  to  breakfast  only  after  being  called  a 
dozen  times  and  he  had  disappeared  immediately 
after  breakfast.  “ What  have  you  been  doing?  ” 

The  little  fellow  laughed  and  poured  into  her  lap 
a handful  of  nickels  and  ten-cent  pieces. 

“Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  those?”  de- 
manded Mrs.  Vereshchagin.  “ Who  gave  them  to 
you?  ” 

“ A man  in  the  road.” 

“A  man  in  the  road?  All  that  money?  What 
for?  ” 

“ I gave  him  the  shiny  thing  and  he  gave  me  those 
moneys.” 


224  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ What  shiny  thing?” 

“ The  shiny  thing  I found  on  the  floor.” 

“ Where  on  the  floor?  ” 

“ In  the  dining-room,”  and  the  youngster  ran  into 
the  house  to  point  out  exactly  the  place  where  he  had 
found  the  “ shiny  thing.” 

“ A ‘ shiny  thing,’  ” repeated  Moya,  who  was  put- 
ting the  room  in  order  and  heard  the  Russian 
woman’s  inquiries.  “ ’Tis  two  of  ’em  I found  mesilf 
on  the  floor  whin  I cleared  up  the  mess  from  the  fire- 
place this  morning.  ’Twas  two  bits  of  brass.  See, 
I saved  ’em,”  and  she  shook  from  a scooped-out 
gourd  which  served  as  an  ornament  on  the  mantel 
two  bits  of  metal. 

“Was  it  like  these,  Vladdy?”  she  asked,  but 
Vladimir  was  too  tired  of  being  questioned  and  ran 
away  without  answering. 

His  mother  shook  her  head  as  she  gazed  at  the 
bits  lying  on  her  palm. 

“ Not  worth  all  these  moneys,”  she  murmured  as 
she  counted  forty  cents  in  the  small  coins  in  her  other 
hand.  It  was  a mystery. 

Moya  put  the  bits  of  brass  back  into  the  gourd  and 
went  on  with  her  dusting. 

Mrs.  Schuler  telephoned  to  Mr.  Emerson  early 
in  the  morning,  telling  him  of  the  damage  to  the 
house  and  asking  him  to  come  and  see  what  had 
happened  so  that  the  bricklayers  might  be  set  to  work 
as  soon  as  possible. 

“ I’m  afraid  to  let  Moya  light  the  kitchen  stove 
until  I’m  sure  the  chimney  is  sound,”  she  explained. 

Mr.  Emerson  telephoned  the  news  to  his  grand- 
children and  he  and  all  the  Mortons  with  Dorothy 


THE  STORM 


225 

and  her  mother  and  Miss  Merriam  and  Elisabeth 
arrived  at  the  farm  at  almost  the  same  time. 

“ I’m  glad  the  house  is  in  as  good  condition  as  it 
seems  to  be,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Morton.  “ I couldn’t 
bear  to  have  the  old  homestead  fall  to  ruin.  I was 
startled  at  Father’s  message.” 

“ Not  so  startled  as  all  the  people  here  were  in 
the  night,”  laughed  her  father  who  had  been  talk- 
ing with  Mrs.  Schuler.  “ It  seems  that  the  worst 
noise  came  after  the  electric  storm  was  over,  but 
while  the  wind  was  at  its  highest.” 

“ The  chimney  wasn’t  struck  by  lighting,  then.” 
“ It  was  not  lightning,”  asserted  Mr.  Schuler. 
“ The  wind  knocked  bricks  from  the  top  of  the  chim- 
ney. I saw  one  or  two  on  the  roof  this  morning. 
As  you  see,  several  fell  down  the  chimney  into  the 
fireplace.” 

“ I can’t  see  how  bricks  from  the  top  of  the  chim- 
ney could  have  made  the  crack  in  the  kitchen  side 
of  the  chimney  and  this  crack  in  the  back  of  the  fire- 
place.” 

“ Nor  I,”  agreed  Mr.  Schuler.  “ The  roar  was 
tremendous.  I could  not  believe  that  I was  seeing 
rightly  when  I beheld  only  these  few  fallen  bricks.” 
“ It  sounded  as  if  the  whole  chimney  had  fallen,” 
Mrs.  Schuler  confirmed  her  husband’s  assertion. 

“ Mrs.  Peterson  says  it  sounded  to  her  like  an  ex- 
plosion, sir,”  said  Moya,  who  had  been  talking  with 
the  women  on  the  porch.  “ Her  room  is  right  over 
this.  The  bricks  fell  through  the  chimney,  banging 
it  all  the  way,  says  she,  and  thin  there  was  a roar  like 
powder  had  gone  off,  as  far  as  I can  understand 
what  she  says.” 


226  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ If  Mrs.  Paterno  heard  that  she  must  have 
thought  the  Black  Hand  was  getting  in  its  fine  work, 
sure  enough,”  smiled  Mr.  Emerson. 

“ Praise  be,  her  room  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house.  We  were  all  wailing  like  banshees  up  there, 
but  she  no  more  than  the  rest.  ’Tis  better  she  is,” 
and  Moya  nodded  reassuringly  to  the  grown-ups,  who 
were,  she  knew,  deeply  interested  in  the  Italian 
woman’s  recovery  of  her  nervous  strength. 

“ This  explosion  business  I don’t  understand,”  Mr. 
Emerson  said  slowly  to  himself.  “ What  did  you 
find  in  the  fireplace  this  morning,  Moya?  I wish 
you  had  left  all  the  stuff  here  for  me  to  see.” 

“ I’m  sorry,  sir.  I was  only  thinkin’  about  havin’ 
it  clean  before  breakfast.  There  was  the  bricks, 
sir,  two  of  ’em;  and  a pile  of  soot  and  some  bits  of 
trash  wid  no  meanin’ — ” 

“ Did  you  find  my  two  thinieth  I picked  up  on  the 
track  yesterday?  ” asked  Dicky.  “ Ethels  made  me 
throw  away  all  the  thingth  in  my  pocket  and  my 
thinieth  went  too.” 

“ What  does  he  mean  by  his  ‘ shinies  ’ ? ” asked 
Mr.  Emerson. 

“ He  picked  up  a lot  of  stuff  yesterday  when  we 
were  hunting  arrow  heads  and  walking  to  Rosemont 
by  the  short  cut  over  the  track.  When  I was  putting 
Mrs.  Schuler’s  storm  cape  on  him  I emptied  out  his 
pocketful  of  trash  into  the  fireplace.” 

“ What  did  the  shinies  look  like,  son?  ” inquired 
Dicky’s  grandfather. 

Dicky  was  entering  into  an  elaborate  and  unin- 
telligible explanation  when  Moya  took  the  bits  of 
brass  from  the  gourd. 

“ Would  these  be  the  shinies?  ” she  asked. 


THE  STORM 


227 

Mr.  Emerson  took  them  from  her  and  examined 
them  carefully. 

“ I rather  think  the  explanation  of  the  explosion 
is  here,”  he  decided.  “ You  say  you  picked  these 
up  on  the  track,  Dicky?  ” 

“ Yeth,  I did,  and  Ethel  threw  them  away,”  re- 
peated the  youngster  who  was  beginning  to  think 
that  he  had  a real  grievance,  since  his  “ shinies  ” 
seemed  to  have  some  importance. 

“ These  are  two  of  the  small  dynamite  cartridges 
that  brakemen  lay  on  the  track  to  notify  the  en- 
gineer of  a following  train  to  stop  for  some  reason. 
They  use  them  in  stormy  weather  or  when  there  is 
reason  to  think  that  the  usual  flag  or  red  light  be- 
tween the  rails  won’t  be  seen.” 

“ Dynamite ! ” exclaimed  Ethel  Brown,  looking  at 
her  hand  as  she  remembered  that  she  had  not  been 
especially  gentle  when  she  tossed  the  contents  of  her 
brother’s  pocket  into  the  fireplace. 

“ There  is  enough  dynamite  in  a cartridge  to  make 
a sharp  detonation  but  not  enough  to  do  any  dam- 
age, unless,  as  happened  here,  there  were  two  of 
them  in  a small  space  that  was  enclosed  on  three 
sides  — ” 

“ The  trash  was  blown  out  on  the  floor  of  the 
room,”  interrupted  Mr.  Schuler. 

“ — by  walls  that  were  none  too  strong.  With  a 
wind  such  as  last  night’s  knocking  down  the  chimney 
at  the  top  and  bricks  setting  dynamite  cartridges  into 
action  below  I only  wonder  that  the  old  thing  is 
standing  at  all  this  morning.” 

They  gazed  at  it  as  if  they  expected  the  whole 
affair  to  fall  before  their  eyes. 

“ I’ll  call  up  the  brickmason  and  find  out  when  he 


228  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


can  come  to  examine  it;  he  may  have  to  rebuild  the 
entire  chimney.” 

Mr.  Emerson  was  moving  toward  the  hall  where 
the  telephone  was  when  his  eye  fell  on  Elisabeth 
sitting  contentedly  on  the  floor  close  to  the  wall  turn- 
ing over  and  over  something  that  gleamed. 

“ What  have  you  got  there,  small  blessing?  ” he 
asked,  stooping  to  make  sure  that  she  was  not  in- 
tending to  try  the  taste  of  whatever  it  might  be. 

“ Hullo ! ” he  cried,  straightening  himself. 
“ Hullo ! ” and  he  held  up  his  discovery  before  the 
astonished  eyes  of  the  group. 

“It  looks  like  a gold  coin,  Grandfather!”  ex- 
claimed Ethel  Brown. 

“ That’s  just  what  it  is.  A guinea.  Its  date  is 
1762.  Where  did  you  find  it,  Ayleesabet?”  he 
asked  the  child,  who  was  reaching  up  her  tiny  hands 
for  the  return  of  her  new  plaything. 

“ Here,  here,”  she  answered,  pointing  to  the  floor 
where  the  casing  of  the  chimney  yawned  from  the 
planks  for  half  an  inch.  “ Here,”  and  she  pushed 
her  fingers  into  the  crack. 

“ I saw  her  pull  something  that  was  sticking  out 
of  there  a little  bit,”  said  Dorothy,  “ but  I was  in- 
terested in  what  Mr.  Emerson  was  saying  and  I 
didn’t  pay  much  attention  to  what  she  was  doing.” 

Miss  Merriam  took  Elisabeth  on  her  lap  and 
peered  between  her  lips  to  make  sure  that  no  dirt 
from  the  floor  was  visible.  Then  she  took  a small 
emergency  kit  from  her  pocket,  extracted  a bit  of 
sterile  gauze  and  wiped  out  the  little  pink  mouth. 

“ I live  in  hopes  that  the  day  will  come  when  she’ll 
outgrow  her  desire  to  test  everything  with  her 
mouth,”  she  remarked  amusedly. 


THE  STORM 


229 


“ Grandfather,  do  you  — do  you  think  that  could 
possibly  be  one  of  Algernon  Merriam’s  guineas,” 
asked  Ethel  Brown,  who  had  been  talking  breath- 
lessly with  Ethel  Blue. 

“ The  idea  occurred  to  me,”  said  her  grandfather. 
“Is  it  guineas  ye’re  speaking  about?”  asked 
Moya.  “ Perhaps  ’twas  a guinea  young  Vladdy  the 
Russian  found  this  morning.  He  said  he  found  a 
‘ shiny  thing.’  I thought  ’twas  one  of  thim  car- 
tridges, like  I found  myself.” 

“Another  shiny  thing?  What  did  he  do  with 
it?  Let’s  see  it?”  demanded  Mr.  Emerson. 

“ He  said  he  gave  it  to  a man  in  the  road  and  the 
man  gave  him  a handful  of  ten-cent  pieces  and 
nickels.  There  was  forty  cents  of  it.  I heard  Mrs. 
Vereshchagin  counting  ’em.” 

“ Forty  cents  ! It  must  have  been  a valuable  shiny 
thing  that  a man  in  the  road  would  give  a child 
forty  cents  for.  He  knew  its  value.  I should  say 
Vladimir  and  Elisabeth  had  tapped  the  same  till. 
Helen,  go  and  see  if  you  can  find  out  anything  more 
from  the  child  or  his  mother.  And  Roger,  get  a 
chisel  and  hammer  and  hatchet  and  perhaps  you 
and  Mr.  Schuler  and  I can  take  down  these  boards 
and  see  what  there  is  to  see  behind  them.” 

“ Wouldn’t  it  be  thrilling  if  there  should  be  a hid- 
den treasure!  ” exclaimed  Ethel  Blue.  “ Aren’t  you 
shivering  all  over  with  excitement,  Miss  Gertrude?  ” 
“ Not  quite  as  bad  as  that,”  laughed  Miss  Mer- 
riam,  “ but  I am  excited.  Just  suppose  we  should 
find  the  treasure  whose  loss  kept  little  Patience  two 
years  from  being  married!  ” 

She  smiled  a trifle  sadly  and  patted  Elisabeth,  who 
was  sitting  contentedly  on  her  lap. 


230  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

Meanwhile  Roger  and  his  grandfather  were  pry- 
ing off  the  boards  that  covered  in  the  chimney  on  the 
right  side  and  supported  the  mantel-shelf.  As  it 
fell  back  into  their  hands  two  more  gold  coins 
tumbled  to  the  floor. 

“I  believe  we  have  found  Algernon’s  coins!” 
cried  Mr.  Emerson.  “ Just  take  off  this  narrow 
plank,  Roger  and  let  me  squint  in  there.  Stand 
back,  please,  all  of  you,  and  let  us  have  as  much 
light  as  we  can.” 

“ I have  a flashlight,”  said  Mr.  Schuler. 

“ Just  the  ticket.  Now,  then  — ,”  and  Mr.  Emer- 
son kneeled  down,  peering  into  the  space  that  was 
disclosed  when  the  boards  fell  away.  “ I see  some- 
thing; I certainly  see  something,”  he  cried  as  the 
electricity  searched  into  the  darkness. 

He  thrust  in  his  arm  but  the  something  was  too 
far  off. 

“ Take  my  crutch,”  suggested  Mr.  Schuler. 

Mr.  Emerson  took  it  and  tugged  away  with  the 
top. 

“ It’s  coming,  it’s  coming,”  his  muffled  cry  rose 
from  the  depths. 

Another  tug  and  a blackened  leather  pouch, 
slashed  with  a jagged  tear  from  which  gold  pieces 
were  pouring,  tumbled  into  the  room. 

“ Pick  it  all  up  and  put  it  on  the  table,  Roger, 
while  Mr.  Schuler  and  I decide  how  it  happened,” 
ordered  Mr.  Emerson. 

The  investigation  seemed  to  prove  that  there 
probably  had  been  a crack  in  the  bricks  at  the  back 
of  the  mantel  at  the  time  when  Algernon  Merriam 
had  thrust  the  bag  into  the  mantel  cupboard.  It  had 
fallen  off  the  back  of  the  shelf  and  into  the  little 


THE  STORM 


231 


crevasse  where  it  lay  beyond  the  reach  of  arm  or 
bent  wire  or  candle  light  for  over  a hundred  and 
thirty  years. 

“ Evidently  last  night’s  big  shaking  widened  the 
crack  and  let  the  bag  fall  down.  The  ragged  edge 
of  a broken  brick  tore  the  leather  and  the  two  coins 
that  Vladimir  and  Elisabeth  found  slipped  out  and 
fell  just  inside  the  plank  covering  of  the  chimney  and 
below  it  out  on  to  the  floor.” 

“ So  did  the  two  that  fell  out  wrhen  we  were  work- 
ing,” added  Roger. 

“ Let’s  open  it  and  count  the  money.  This  may 
be  some  other  bag,”  suggested  Helen,  who  had 
brought  back  no  farther  information  from  the  Rus- 
sian. “ If  it’s  Algernon’s  it  ought  to  have  — how 
many  guineas  was  it?  ” 

“ Five  hundred  and  seventy-three,  and  a ring  and 
a miniature,”  continued  Ethel  Brown. 

“ In  a box,”  concluded  Ethel  Blue.  “ I can’t  wait 
for  Roger  to  undo  it ! ” 

They  gathered  around  the  table  on  which  Roger 
had  placed  the  stained  bag,  the  gold  coins  gleaming 
through  a gash  in  its  side.  Moya  cleaned  the  out- 
side as  well  as  she  could  with  a damp  cloth. 

“ See,  here  are  some  crumbs  of  sealing-wax  still 
clinging  to  the  cord,”  and  Grandfather  Emerson  cut 
the  string  that  still  tied  the  mouth.  Before  their 
amazed  eyes  there  rolled  first  a small  box  and  then 
guineas  as  bright  as  when  they  were  tied  up  in  their 
prison. 

“ We  shan’t  have  to  count  the  guineas;  if  the  ring 
and  the  miniature  are  in  the  box  that  will  prove  that 
it’s  Algernon’s  bag,”  said  Helen. 

“ Here,  young  woman;  hands  off,”  cried  her 


232  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


grandfather  as  Helen  was  preparing  to  open  the  box. 
“ Algernon  and  Patience  were  no  direct  ancestors  of 
yours.  Miss  Merriam  is  the  suitable  person  to  per- 
form this  ceremony.” 

Helen,  smiling,  pushed  the  basket  toward  Miss 
Gertrude  who  slipped  off  the  string  with  trembling 
fingers. 

“ I’m  almost  afraid  to  take  off  the  cover,”  she 
whispered. 

“ O,  do  hurry  up,  Miss  Gertrude,”  implored  Ethel 
Brown.  “ I think  I shall  burst  if  I don’t  know  all 
about  it  soon  1 ” 

With  misty  eyes  Gertrude  slowly  lifted  the  cover 
from  the  box.  Wrapped  in  a twist  of  cotton  was  a 
ring  set  with  several  large  diamonds. 

“Is  it  marked  ‘Gertrude’?”  asked  Dorothy 
breathlessly. 

Miss  Merriam  nodded. 

Below  the  ring  lay  a miniature,  the  portrait  of  a 
fair  woman  with  deep  blue  eyes.  It  was  set  round 
with  brilliants  and  on  the  gold  back  was  engraved, 
“ Gertrude  Merriam.” 

Miss  Merriam  stared  at  it  and  then  handed  it  to 
Mr.  Emerson. 

“What  a marvellous  likeness!”  he  exclaimed. 
“ You  must  be  able  to  see  it  yourself.” 

Gertrude  nodded  again,  not  trusting  herself  to 
speak. 

“ There’s  no  question  that  she’s  your  ancestor. 
Now,  I’d  like  to  see  if  the  correct  number  of  coins 
is  here  if  you’ll  let  Roger  and  me  count  your  guineas 
for  you.” 

“ Count  my  guineas?  ” cried  Miss  Merriam. 

“ Certainly  they’re  your  guineas.  You’re  a direct 


THE  STORM 


233 

descendant  of  Algernon  and  Patience.  The  bag 
and  its  contents  belong  to  you.” 

Gertrude  stared  at  Mr.  Emerson  as  if  she  could 
not  understand  him. 

“ Mine?  ” she  repeated,  “ mine?  ” but  when  Mr. 
Emerson  insisted  and  the  other  elders  congratulated 
her  and  the  girls  kissed  her  and  Roger  shook  hands 
formally,  she  began  to  realize  that  this  little  fortune 
really  was  hers  by  right  and  not  through  the  kind- 
ness of  her  friends. 

The  count  of  the  coins  proved  exact.  There  were 
569  of  them. 

“ Here  are  the  two  that  fell  on  the  floor  when  we 
were  hammering,”  said  Roger,  laying  them  on  the 
table.  “ They  make  571.” 

“ And  here  is  the  one  that  Ayleesabet  found,” 
added  Mr.  Emerson,  drawing  it  from  his  pocket. 
“ That  is  the  five  hundred  and  seventy-second. 
Young  Vladimir’s  trophy  has  gone  for  good,  I’m 
afraid.  He  must  have  sold  it  to  some  passer-by 
who  knew  enough  to  realize  that  it  was  a valuable 
coin  and  wasn’t  honest  enough  to  hunt  for  the  owner 
or  to  pay  the  child  its  full  value.” 

“ Every  one  of  the  573  is  accounted  for,  anyway,” 
declared  Roger.  “ You  won’t  think  it  impertinent 
if  I figure  out  how  much  you’re  worth,  will  you  Miss 
Gertrude  ? ” 

“ I shall  be  glad  if  you  will,”  she  answered. 

“A  guinea  is  21  shillings  and  a shilling  is  about 
24  cents  in  American  money.  That  makes  a guinea 
worth  about  $5.04.  Five  hundred-and-seventy-two 
times  that  makes  $2882.88.” 

“ Almost  three  thousand  dollars ! ” exclaimed 
Gertrude,  her  face  radiant;  “why  — why  now — ” 


234  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


she  broke  off  suddenly  and  hid  her  face  on  Mrs. 
Smith’s  shoulder,  sobbing. 

“ Now  I can  pay  all  my  indebtedness  and  be  free 
to  do  what  I please,”  she  said  to  her  friend  in  an 
undertone. 

Mrs.  Smith  patted  her  gently,  for  she  knew  what 
it  was  she  wanted  to  be  free  to  do. 

“ This  fortune  is  going  to  mount  up  to  more  than 
three  thousand  dollars,”  declared  Mr.  Emerson. 
“ There  isn’t  a coin  here  that  was  minted  later  than 
1774.  There  can’t  be,  because  Algernon  came  to 
this  country  in  the  early  part  of  1775.  Pile  them 
up  according  to  the  dates  on  them,  children,  and  let’s 
see  what  there  is  that  will  appeal  to  the  dealer  in 
antiquities.” 

“ At  that  rate  every  coin  here,  even  the  youngest, 
is  worth  more  than  $5.04,”  exclaimed  Roger. 

“ You  get  the  idea,  my  son,”  smiled  his  grand- 
father. “ We’ll  sell  these  coins  separately  for  Miss 
Gertrude  and  get  a special  price  on  each  one. 
Here’s  one,  for  instance,  that  ought  to  be  worth  a 
good  bonus;  it  is  dated  1663.  It  was  over  a hun- 
dred years  old  when  your  respected  great-great- 
grandfather brought  it  over  here,  and  if  I remember 
my  English  history  correctly  it  was  in  1663  that 
guineas  were  first  minted.  This  is  a ‘ first  edition,’ 
so  to  speak.” 

Gertrude  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  smiling  happily. 

“ Isn’t  it  perfectly  wonderful  that  the  very  same 
money  that  delayed  my  great-great-grandmother’s 
marriage  will  hasten  minei  ” she  murmured  to  Mrs. 
Smith. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME 

GERTRUDE  MERRIAM  was  pleased  at  the 
good  fortune  that  had,  literally,  fallen  to  her, 
and  her  good  friends  of  the  United  Service  Club 
were  rejoiced,  but  Edward  Watkins  was  elated  be- 
yond power  of  expression. 

“ Here  I was  trying  to  school  myself  to  wait  for 
nobody  knows  how  long  until  Gertrude  should  make 
enough  money  to  satisfy  her  conscience,  and  now 
there  isn’t  any  reason  at  all  for  waiting  another 
minute.” 

“Edward!”  remonstrated  Miss  Merriam,  who, 
with  Mrs.  Smith  and  Dorothy  was  listening  to  this 
oration  in  Mrs.  Smith’s  drawing  room. 

“ Of  course  she’s  all  right  about  insisting  on  pay- 
ing off  that  miserable  indebtedness  of  hers;  I 
wouldn’t  have  had  her  feel  any  other  way  about  it; 
but  now  she  can  do  it  right  off  instanter”  and  Ed- 
ward seized  Dorothy  and  marched  her  around  the 
room  in  the  “ One,  two,  three,  back,”  step  that  they 
both  had  learned  from  the  Mortons  as  an  expression 
of  extreme  pleasure. 

“ Mr.  Emerson  hasn’t  sold  all  the  coins  for  me 
yet,”  Gertrude  protested. 

“ He  was  telling  me  about  it  this  afternoon. 
He’s  going  slowly  so  as  not  to  flood  the  market,  and 
he’s  finding  out  what  every  date  is  worth  so  that  none 
of  special  value  shall  escape  him.  He  sent  some  to 

235 


23 6 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


friends  in  Boston  and  Washington  and  Chicago  and 
St.  Louis  to  sell  there,  and  he’s  attending  himself 
to  the  New  York  and  Trenton  and  Philadelphia 
dealers.” 

“ How  shrewd  he  is ! I never  should  have 
thought  of  all  that!  ” said  Mrs.  Smith  admiringly. 

“And  how  kind  he  is!  ” added  Gertrude  softly. 

“ How  could  he  help  being  kind,”  and  Edward 
gazed  at  her  with  an  expression  that  deepened  the 
pink  of  her  cheeks. 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang.  Dorothy  answered 
it  and  came  back  to  say  that  Mr.  Emerson  wanted  to 
speak  to  Miss  Merriam. 

When  she  returned  a few  minutes  later  she  was 
full  of  excitement. 

“ JVhat  do  you  think  Mr.  Emerson  says ! He  has 
just  found  out  that  one  of  the  coins  is  one  that  is 
not  only  of  a date  that  is  very  rare  but  it  has  some 
peculiarity  that  was  seen  on  the  first  ones  that  were 
issued  in  that  year  and  not  in  the  later  ones.  I un- 
derstood that  it  was  something  that  made  them  call 
in  the  whole  issue  and  melt  them  down  again.  Only 
a few  escaped,  and  they  are  so  rare  that  he  has  al- 
ready been  offered  $1300  for  it  and  he  thinks  he  can 
work  the  bid  up  higher.” 

Dorothy  clapped  her  hands  and  pranced  with  joy. 

“ I really  believe  I’ll  ask  you  to  go  into  town  with 
me  tomorrow  and  help  me  begin  to  get  some  of  my 
things,”  Gertrude  murmured  to  Mrs.  Smith  in  an 
undertone  that  nevertheless  reached  Edward’s  ears. 

“ Great  and  glorious!  ” he  ejaculated.  “ Is  it  go- 
ing to  be  white  satin?  ” 

Gertrude  blushed  again. 

“ It  will  be  white  something,”  she  answered. 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME  237 


“ I’m  so  glad,”  returned  Mrs.  Smith.  “ A travel- 
ling dress  will  do  if  it  is  necessary,  but  a white  frock 
has  the  truest  meaning  for  a young  bride.” 

“ Edward  says  I shan’t  need  many  dresses  in  Okla- 
homa or  any  but  simple  ones  until  he  makes  his  for- 
tune in  oil  as  well  as  medicine,  so  my  shopping  won’t 
be  long  or  difficult,”  explained  Gertrude;  “and  I 
thought  perhaps  we’d  better  go  to  the  School  of 
Mothercraft  and  see  if  the  Director  has  any  one  who 
can  take  my  place  here.” 

Her  eyes  filled  as  she  looked  across  the  room  at 
Elisabeth  who  was  humming  like  a contented  pussy 
as  she  built  remarkable  block  houses  which  had  but 
a brief  existence. 

“ What  shall  we  do  without  you,”  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Smith. 

“ Now,  dear  Mrs.  Smith,  we  shall  all  be  in  tears 
in  a few  minutes  at  this  rate,”  objected  Edward. 
“ Come  and  walk  to  the  train  with  me,  Gertrude,  and 
remember  that  Mother  is  expecting  both  of  you  to 
lunch  with  her  to-morrow  if  you  can  spare  the  time 
from  your  shopping.” 

When  it  became  known  in  Rosemont  that  Miss 
Merriam’s  wedding  day  had  been  decided  on  there 
was  proof  at  once  that  she  had  made  herself  greatly 
beloved.  All  the  Emersons’  and  Mortons’  and 
Smiths’  friends  besieged  her  with  requests  to  be  al- 
lowed to  help  in  some  way  with  her  preparations. 
The  women  at  Rose  House  began  to  work  on  secret 
pieces  of  embroidery  of  great  importance.  Every 
member  of  the  U.  S.  C.  was  eager  to  give  her  a per- 
sonal gift,  and  they  wanted  to  make  her  a present  as 
a club  also. 

“ She  has  been  as  good  as  gold  to  us,”  declared 


23 8 ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


Ethel  Brown  emphatically.  “ She’s  never  been 
cross  and  she’s  helped  us  with  our  entertainments 
and  our  work.” 

‘‘I  should  say  she  had!”  added  Ethel  Blue. 
“ Look  at  the  time  she  has  spent  at  Rose  House  try- 
ing to  teach  those  women  how  to  take  care  of  their 
children.” 

“ Don’t  you  think  it  would  be  cunning  to  give  her 
a present  from  Ayleesabet?  ” suggested  Dorothy. 

“ I think  it  would  be  too  dear  for  words ! ” 

“ Have  you  heard  Della  say  what  the  Watkinses 
are  going  to  give  her  and  Edward?  ” 

“ Mother  and  Mrs.  Watkins  talked  about  it  the 
day  that  Mother  and  Miss  Gertrude  lunched  there,” 
offered  Dorothy.  “ Mother  told  her  that  your 
grandfather  and  grandmother  wanted  to  give  her  a 
silver  service  and  that  she  and  your  mother  would 
like  to  give  her  the  flat  silver,  and  that  she  was  going 
to  get  her  linen  herself.  Then  Mrs.  Watkins  said 
that  the  Watkinses  would  give  them  their  china  and 
glass.” 

“ Won’t  their  house  be  lovely!  ” 

“ It  certainly  will  be  pretty  and  if  every  one’s  love 
could  shine  out  of  each  article  it  would  just  be  filled 
with  love.” 

“ There’ll  be  plenty  of  love  there  if  the  doctor’s 
and  Miss  Gertrude’s  faces  tell  the  truth ! ” 

They  laughed  gently  for  the  engaged  couple  went 
about  beaming  like  two  rising  suns. 

“ Did  you  know  that  Edward  said  this  morning 
that  his  patient  is  getting  on  so  well  that  the  physi- 
cians are  going  to  discharge  him  from  the  hospital 
next  week?  He  asked  Miss  Gertrude  if  she  could 
be  ready  a week  earlier  than  they  had  planned.” 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME  239 


“ What  did  she  say?  ” 

“ She  said  ‘ yes  ’ as  long  as  the  cards  weren’t  en- 
graved yet.” 

“ Did  they  settle  on  the  very  day?  ” 

“ A week  from  next  Tuesday.” 

“ We’ll  have  to  hurry  then.” 

The  Club  had  been  prominent  figures  at  Mrs. 
Schuler’s  wedding,  but  that  was  a very  small  affair 
at  home,  and  Miss  Gertrude’s  was  to  be  in  the  church 
with  a reception  afterwards  at  Dorothy’s  house. 
The  Club  felt  that  they  wanted  to  do  every  bit  of  the 
work  that  they  could,  not  only  because  they  loved 
Miss  Gertrude  but  because  she  was  going  to  marry 
the  brother  of  two  of  the  Club  members.  She  had 
said  that  she  would  like  to  have  the  church  decorated 
with  wild  flowers  so  that  she  might  take  away  with 
her  the  remembrance  of  the  blossoms  that  she  had 
seen  and  loved  in  the  Rosemont  fields. 

The  Club  held  a special  meeting  to  talk  over  their 
plans  for  the  wedding.  It  was  at  Rose  House,  for 
they  had  become  accustomed  to  meeting  there  during 
the  summer,  when  every  moment  could  be  utilized 
for  work  on  something  connected  with  the  furnish- 
ing of  the  house  while  at  the  same  time  they  could 
talk  as  they  hammered  and  measured  and  screwed 
and  sewed.  They  were  gathered  under  the  tree 
where  the  squirrel  lived.  As  they  established  them- 
selves, he  was  sitting  on  a branch  above  them,  twitch- 
ing his  tail  and  making  ready  for  a descent  to  search 
for  cookies  in  their  pockets. 

Helen  called  the  meeting  to  order  and  told 
them  what  Miss  Gertrude  had  said  about  the  decora- 
tions. 

“Has  any  one  any  suggestions?”  she  asked. 


24o  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Shall  we  have  all  the  different  kinds  of  flowers 
we  can  find  or  select  one  kind?  ” asked  Ethel  Brown. 
“ We  can  get  goldenrod  and  asters  now.” 

“ And  cardinals  and  cat-tails.” 

“ And  ‘ old-maids.’  ” 

“ And  hollyhocks.” 

“ Nobody  has  said  ‘ Queen  Anne’s  Lace.’  I think 
that’s  the  prettiest  of  all,”  urged  Ethel  Blue. 
“ Wouldn’t  it  be  delicate  and  fairy-like  if  we 
trimmed  the  whole  church  with  it!  ” 

“ O,  Ethel,  I see  it  in  a flash!”  cried  Della. 
“ Not  banked  heavily  anywhere,  but  always  in  feath- 
ery masses.” 

“ On  the  altar  and  winding  the  chancel  rail.” 

“ A cluster  on  the  end  of  each  pew.” 

“ Long  garlands  instead  of  ribbons  to  close  the 
ends  of  the  pews.” 

“ An  arch  about  half  way  up  the  aisle.” 

The  whole  scene  grew  on  them  as  they  talked 
and  they  waxed  enthusiastic  over  the  details.  They 
had  learned  that  flowers  to  be  used  for  decoration 
should  be  picked  the  day  beforehand  and  placed  in 
water  over  night  so  that  the  moisture  should  have 
time  to  force  itself  into  the  stalks  and  to  drive  away 
the  first  wilting.  They  decided  to  gather  all  the 
Queen  Anne’s  Lace  that  they  could  find  in  all  Rose- 
mont,  accepting  the  help  of  all  the  children  who  had 
asked  if  they  might  help. 

“We’ll  need  tubs  and  tubs  of  it,”  said  Ethel 
Brown. 

“ We  can  get  all  we  need,  I’m  sure;  and  the  sexton 
will  give  us  water  and  let  us  keep  them  in  the  Parish 
House  over  night.” 

“ Will  Mrs.  Smith  let  us  decorate  the  house,  or 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME  241 


has  she  some  other  plan  for  that?  ” asked  Margaret 
Hancock  of  Dorothy. 

“ She  said  we  might  do  it,  but  she  suggested  that 
we  should  make  it  all  pink  if  there  were  still  enough 
flowers  in  our  pink  gardens.” 

Mrs.  Smith  was  building  a new  house,  and 
Dorothy  and  the  Ethels  had  planted  a flower  garden 
on  the  new  lot  although  the  house  was  not  yet  done. 
They  had  arranged  to  have  a succession  of  pink  blos- 
soms. For  fear  it  would  not  turn  out  well  because 
they  had  not  been  able  to  have  the  soil  put  in  as  good 
condition  as  they  wanted  on  account  of  the  dis- 
turbed state  of  the  place  with  workmen  constantly 
crossing,  they  had  tried  another  pink  garden  at  Rose 
House,  and  the  Ethels  had  planted  still  another  bed 
in  their  own  yard. 

“ Among  them  all  I should  think  we  ought  to  find 
enough,  if  all  the  blossoms  don’t  take  it  into  their 
heads  to  fall  oft  the  very  day  before,”  said  Ethel 
Brown  gloomily. 

“ Don’t  talk  that  way ! ” insisted  Ethel  Blue. 
“ We’ll  find  lots  of  pink  flowers  and  Aunt  Louise’s 
drawing-room  will  look  lovely.” 

“ We  can  put  some  of  the  feathery  white  with  it.” 

“ And  we  must  find  some  soft  green  somewhere. 
The  coloring  of  the  room  is  so  delicate  that  the  pink 
and  white  effect  will  be  charming,”  and  Helen  leaned 
back  against  the  tree  trunk  with  a satisfied  smile. 

“ The  next  point  is  that  Aunt  Louise  says  she’d  be 
very  glad  if  we’d  all  assist  at  the  reception  just  as  we 
do  at  Mother’s  teas  — handing  things  to  eat  and  be- 
ing nice  to  people.” 

They  all  nodded  their  understanding  of  their 
duties. 

63 


242  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Are  all  of  you  girls  going  to  be  dressed  alike?  ” 
asked  Tom. 

“ No,  sir.  Della  is  to  be  maid  of  honor.  She’s 
to  wear  the  most  delicate  shade  of  pink  you  can 
imagine.  The  Ethels  are  to  have  a shade  that  is 
just  a wee  bit  darker,  and  Margaret  and  I are  to 
come  last — ” 

“ Being  the  tallest.” 

“ — wearing  real  rose-colored  frocks.  It’s  going 
to  be  beautiful.” 

“ I can  easily  believe  it,”  declared  James,  making 
an  attempt  at  a bow  that  was  defeated  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  lying  on  his  back  and  found  the  exploit 
too  difficult  to  achieve.  “ I also  seem  to  see  you 
flitting  around  the  house  under  those  pink  decora- 
tions. You’ll  run  the  bride  hard.” 

“ Edward  won’t  think  so,”  laughed  Tom. 
“ Now  what  are  we  going  to  give  to  Gertrude  — ” 

“ Hear  him  say  ‘ Gertrude,’  ” said  Ethel  Blue  un- 
der her  breath. 

“ She  asked  us  to.  Of  course  we  call  her  by  her 
name.  She’s  going  to  be  our  sister.” 

The  Ethels  looked  quite  depressed,  for  calling 
Miss  Gertrude  by  her  first  name  was  a privilege  they 
knew  they  never  should  have. 

“ I was  inquiring  what  we’re  going  to  give  Ger- 
trude as  a Club.  We  Watkinses  are  going  to 
give  her  something  as  a family,  and  Della  and  I 
have  each  picked  out  a special  present  from  us  our- 
selves — ” 

“ That’s  the  way  we’re  doing,”  came  from  the 
Mortons. 

“ — but  I think  it  would  be  nice  to  give  her  some- 
thing from  the  whole  of  us,  because  if  it  hadn’t  been 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME  243 


for  the  Club  and  the  Club  baby  she  wouldn’t  have 
come  here  at  all.” 

“ Let’s  put  our  colossal  intellects  on  it,”  urged 
Roger. 

“ If  we  could  think  of  something  that  no  one  else 
would  give  her  — ” 

“ And  that  would  remind  her  of  us  and  the  things 
the  Club  does.” 

“ The  Club  makes  furniture,”  laughed  Roger, 
“ but  I shouldn’t  suggest  that  we  repeat  our  latest 
triumph  and  give  her  a sideboard  made  of  old 
boxes.” 

They  all  roared,  but  James  came  up  with  a serious 
expression  after  a roll  that  took  him  some  distance 
away  from  his  friends. 

“ Boxes  am  ree-diculous,”  he  remarked,  “ but  fur- 
niture isn’t.  Isn’t  there  some  piece  of  furniture  that 
they’d  like  better  than  anything  else  we  could  give 
them?” 

“ I’ve  got  an  idea,”  announced  Roger. 

“Quick,  quick;  catch  it!”  and  Tom  tossed  over 
his  cap  to  hold  any  notions  that  might  trickle  away 
from  the  main  mass. 

“ Since  we’ve  been  doing  this  furniture  making  for 
Rose  House  I’ve  spent  a good  deal  of  time  in  the 
carpenter  shop  on  Main  Street.  You  know  it  be- 
longs to  the  son  of  those  old  people  down  by  the 
bridge,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Atwood.” 

“ The  ones  we  gave  a ‘ show  ’ for?  ” asked  Della. 

“ The  same  people.  The  son  was  pleased  at  our 
going  there  and  he  hasn’t  minded  my  fooling  round 
his  place  and  he’s  given  me  a lot  of  points.  He 
makes  good  furniture  himself.” 

“ As  good  as  yours?  ” asked  James  dryly. 


244  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


“ Go  on ! ” retorted  Roger.  “ He’s  a real  joiner 
rather  than  a carpenter,  but  there  isn’t  any  chance 
for  a joiner  in  a town  like  Rosemont,  so  he  does  any 
kind  of  carpentering.” 

“ Go  ahead,  Roger.  We  don’t  care  for  the 
gentleman’s  biography.” 

“Yes,  you  do;  it  has  some  bearing  on  what  I’m 
going  to  propose.” 

“ Let  her  shoot,  then.” 

“ Mr.  Atwood  has  a whole  heap  of  splendid  ma- 
hogany planks  in  his  shop.  I came  across  them  one 
day  and  asked  him  about  them.  He’s  been  collect- 
ing them  a long  time  and  they’re  splendidly  seasoned 
and  he’s  just  waiting  for  a chance  to  make  them  into 
something.” 

“ A light  begins  to  break.  We’ll  have  him  make 
our  present.  Are  you  sure  he’ll  make  it  well 
enough?  It’s  got  to  be  a crackerjack  to  be  suitable 
for  Miss  Gertrude.” 

“ This  is  what  I thought.  The  doctor  and  Miss 
Gertrude  both  like  open  bookcases.  I heard  them 
say  once  they  liked  to  be  able  to  take  out  a book 
without  having  to  bother  with  a door.” 

“ Me,  too,”  agreed  Margaret.  “ And  I never 
could  see  the  use  of  a back.” 

“ That’s  what  I say,”  said  Helen.  “ I’d  rather 
dust  the  books  more  carefully  and  not  have  the  extra 
weight  added  to  the  bookcase.” 

“You  know  the  furniture  they  call  ‘knock- 
down ’ ? ” 

Everybody  nodded.  They  had  all  become  famil- 
iar with  various  makes  of  furniture  since  their  at- 
tention had  been  called  to  the  subject  by  their  sum- 
mer’s interests. 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME  245 


“ I think  Mr.  Atwood  can  make  us  a bookcase 
that  will  consist  of  two  upright  end  pieces  with  holes 


*3 


$3 


*3 


through  them  where  each  shelf  is  to  go.  The 
shelves  will  have  two  extensions  on  each  end  that 
will  go  through  these  square  holes  and  they  will  be 


146  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 


held  in  place  by  wedges  driven  through  these  exten- 
sions on  the  outside  of  the  uprights.  Get  me?  ” 

They  all  said  they  did. 

“ That’s  all  there  is  to  the  bookcase.  It  can  be 
taken  to  pieces  in  ten  minutes  and  packed  flat  and 
^hipped  from  Rosemont  to  Oklahoma  with  some 
chance  of  its  reaching  there  unbroken;  and  it  can  be 
set  up  in  another  ten  minutes.  What  do  you  say?  ” 

There  wasn’t  a dissenting  voice,  and  they  were 
so  pleased  with  the  scheme  that  they  went  to  Mr.  At- 
wood’s that  very  afternoon,  looked  at  the  wood, 
talked  over  the  finish,  and  left  the  order.  It  was 
so  simple  that  the  maker  thought  that  he  could  have 
it  done  before  the  wedding  and  he  agreed  to  take  it 
apart  and  pack  it  for  shipment  so  that  there  would 
be  no  danger  of  its  net  making  its  journey  safely. 

The  wedding  day  was  a trifle  too  warm,  Dorothy 
thought  as  she  gazed  out  early  in  the  morning  and 
considered  the  flowers  that  must  be  set  in  place  sev- 
eral hours  before  the  time  when  they  were  to  be 
seen. 

“We  must  take  care  not  to  have  them  look  like 
those  dandelions  in  the  book  wedding  that  began  so 
joyously  and  ended  all  in  a wizzle,”  she  murmured, 
and  she  was  more  than  ever  glad  that  they  had  taken 
the  precaution  to  pick  them  the  day  before  and  have 
them  in  water. 

By  early  afternoon  all  was  in  readiness  and  the 
girls  were  resting.  Miss  Gertrude  had  not  been  al- 
lowed to  help  but  had  stayed  quietly  in  her  room. 

The  wedding  was  at  half  past  four,  and  at  that 
hour  the  little  church,  which  looked  perfectly  lovely 
in  the  opinion  of  the  decorators,  was  pleasantly  filled 
with  murmuring  groups  of  Rosemont  people,  who 


GERTRUDE  CHANGES  HER  NAME  247 


agreed  that  the  feathery  decorations  proved  yet  an- 
other plume  in  the  caps  of  the  Club  members,  and  of 
New  York  people  who  gazed  at  the  modest  country 
chapel  and  found  it  charming. 

There  was  a happy  brrrr  of  pleasant  comment 
while  the  organ  played  softly.  Roger  and  James 
•were  two  of  the  ushers.  Friends  of  Edward’s, 
young  doctors,  were  the  other  two. 

As  the  organ  broke  into  the  Lohengrin  march  and 
Edward,  with  Tom  for  his  best  man,  appeared  at  the 
chancel,  Gertrude  came  down  the  aisle  from  the  other 
end  of  the  church.  She  wore  a simple  white  trailing 
dress  of  soft  silk,  clasped  at  the  breast  with  the 
ancient  brilliant-framed  miniature  of  another  Ger- 
trude Merriam.  A pearl  pendant,  a gift  from 
Ayleesabet,  hung  from  her  neck.  On  her  ungloved 
right  hand  the  older  Gertrude  Merriam’s  ring 
blazed  beside  Edward’s  more  modest  offering. 

With  the  bride  walked  Mr.  Emerson.  Before 
her  came  Dicky,  leading  the  procession.  Behind 
him  Della,  and  behind  her  the  four  bridesmaids, 
glowing  in  their  rosy  frocks.  The  clergyman  of  the 
parish  was  assisted  by  Edward’s  father,  Mr.  Wat- 
kins, who  smiled  at  his  son  and  the  beautiful  girl 
who  was  to  become  his  daughter  in  a few  minutes’ 
time. 

The  Ethels  held  each  others’  hands  as  they  stood 
behind  the  bride,  wreaths  of  Queen  Anne’s  Lace  over 
their  arms,  and  a delicate  blossom  or  two  tucked  un- 
der a pale  blue  ribbon  in  each  filmy  white  hat.  It 
seemed  but  a moment  to  them  and  it  was  all  over  and 
Miss  Gertrude  was  no  longer  “ Miss  Gertrude  ” but 
“ Mrs.  Edward.”  The  doctor  seemed  to  have  put  on 
new  dignity  and  the  girls  found  themselves  wonder- 


248  ETHEL  MORTON  AT  ROSE  HOUSE 

ing  if  they  should  ever  call  him  “ Edward  ” again. 

Gertrude  swept  by  them  with  her  eyes  full  of  hap- 
piness, but  when  she  reached  the  back  of  the  church 
she  gave  a lovely  smile  to  the  women  and  children  of 
Rose  House  seated  in  the  last  pews. 

“ I want  every  one  to  see  my  lovely  presents,” 
Miss  Gertrude  had  said,  so  the  guests  exclaimed  over 
the  pretty  things  grouped  in  the  library. 

It  was  all  simple  and  happy,  and  a bit  of  pathos 
at  the  end  of  the  afternoon  brought  no  depression. 
Gertrude  was  just  about  to  go  upstairs  to  change  her 
dress  and  she  stood  with  her  maids  and  ushers 
around  her,  exchanging  a laughing  word  or  two  with 
them,  when  a little  procession  made  its  way  toward 
her  from  the  dining-room.  It  consisted  of  all  the 
women  and  children  from  Rose  House,  dressed  in 
the  fresh  clothes  which  the  women  had  made  for 
themselves  and  the  children  during  the  summer. 
They  were  all  so  smiling  that  they  could  hardly  have 
been  recognized  as  the  forlorn  creatures  who  had 
come  to  Rosemont  early  in  July.  Each  woman  held 
in  her  hand  a centrepiece,  embroidered  in  the  charac- 
teristic work  of  her  country. 

Mrs.  Vereshchagin  led  the  way,  because  she  could 
speak  English  a little  better  than  the  others,  but  her 
English  failed  her  when  she  came  face  to  face  with 
the  bride. 

“ We  love  you,”  she  said  simply,  making  a sweep- 
ing gesture  that  included  the  bridegroom  and  all  the 
U.  S.  C.  members  who  were  standing  about.  “ We 
give  you  these  embroideries  of  our  lands.  We  love 
all  of  you.” 

And  all  the  women  and  children  cried  in  chorus, 
“ We  love  all  of  you.” 


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